Digital Sickbag

Dragon And On

2009-04-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

Hey, Sickbaggers!

As today is St. George's Day, I thought I'd share these two George vs Dragon strips I drew, fully intending to make an ongoing series out of the premise, but never actually following it through! Ah, well.

Enjoy!

Happy St. George's Day!

- Fanton.

Rhymes With a Little Bit of Reason

2009-04-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hey, Sickbaggers.

While I'm in a reflective mood, here are some poems what I have done writted. I hope you like!

Drunk on the Job

God must have been really drunk
On the day that He made me.
It would explain
Why I was made
so imperfectly.

Ups and Downs

There are three types of people, all in all,
There are those who rise, and those who fall.
Then there are those who don't move in the least,
Or as we like to call them: deceased.

Dead in Both Directions

I took a bullet for my darling,
Not long after we had split.
People thought that I was mad
But I wouldn't hear of it.
So what if she had left me,
So what if it tore me apart,
I'd have rather died there in her arms,
Then to have died inside her heart.

A Story, Just

Said the leopard to the shepherd, 'Where are your sheep today?'
Said the shepherd to the leopard, 'I really cannot say.'
Said the leopard to the shepherd, 'Have you lost them all?'
Said the shepherd to the leopard, 'No, I fear you'll eat them all.'
Said the leopard to the shepherd, 'You've got me, sir - well done!'
Then the shepherd shot the leopard with his great big gun.

The moral of this story folks, is animals are true,
But no one knows exactly what a man will really do.

Public Service Announcement

There is some information I must impart
When it comes to taking care of your heart.
Stop smoking, and avoid fatty foods,
Try to reduce your intake of booze.
And falling in love should not be dared,
For the damage it does can't be repaired.

What's In A Name?

The Duke of Wellington got the Wellington,
Leon Theremin got the theremin.
Laszlo Biro got the pen he had been owed,
While Samuel Morse got his very own code.
George Ferris got given a new Ferris wheel
But MC Hammer?
Got a record deal.

Go Bye-Bye

'I'm going now sweetheart,
'I'm going to go out of my mind.
Do not worry,
it shan't take long',
I said to the imaginary wife
I left behind.

Gifted

She liked the gift of flowers,
She liked the gift of chocs,
She liked the gift of earrings,
Wrapped up in a gift-box.

One day I gave her a gift,
I thought was really sweet
I gave her all of my love,
She asked for the receipt.

- Fanton.

From Broken Heart to Broken Heart

2009-04-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

Hey, Sickbaggers.

I know, I know. It's been another couple of months since I last posted, for which I apologise (if you even care, that is).

Trouble is, I've reeeeeeaaaally not felt like updating, as things have not been so peachy of late.

As you may recall, in that last post, I was unemployed, but I was happily plodding along, filled with ideas and scheme, and extolling the virtue of my wonderful girlfriend.

Well, I think God must have read that post, and deemed in His infinite wisdom that I was having far too much happiness, for some three weeks later my girlfriend left me.

She had her reasons, and assured me it wasn't me, but it hasn't made the split any less painful. I thought the world of her and would have done anything with my limited powers to make her happy...but now she's gone, and not a day goes by where I don't think of her, and miss her deeply. She is an incredible person, and still so very special and dear to me.

Added to this is the fact I'm still unemployed, despite filling enough more forms and applications to lay waste to an entire forest; and money is so tight that I've had to skip meals on occasion just to stretch my resources, and things are looking rather bleak and hopeless.

In short: everything's gone to shit. Big, steaming piles of it.

Then, yesterday I went to the hospital to have an ECG, as I've been having chest pains a lot lately. I've always had a bit of a dicky chest, but the twinges and palpitations have been increasing in frequency, so figured I should get it checked out.

The initial diagnosis seems to be that part of my heart has become enlarged, as it struggles to effectively pump blood around my body. The exact reasons why are still a mystery and further investigations are needed, but it's another piece of less-than-stellar news to absorb.

It seems my heart is quite literally broken.

So, yeah. That's why I haven't posted here of late.

I'm still somehow updating Lord Likely's site, though, albeit less frequently. It's quite tricky to pump out chuckles and guffaws when I feel so depressed, but I think I'm getting away with it. Hopefully his lordship's antics are still eliciting the odd chuckle.

I also apologise for his lordship's less frequent visits to his friend's websites and blogs. I do still keep up with most of them, but I'm finding plucking a witty response from the air to put in the comments a little hard, so forgive me.

I was buoyed by the generous response to his lordship's latest fund-raising attempt, though. I was genuinely penniless and so the generous donations made were really, truly appreciated. Thank you so much, you guys!

In other news, it looks like The Carrotty Kid's site will be disappearing soon. It's due for renewal now, but I set it up back when I had a job and money, and I simply cannot afford to pay to keep it going, which is a shame. I did have plans for the Kid, but as with everything, my plans do not seem to account for much!

Hopefully, normal service will be resumed somewhen soon, and there will be less whiney, self-pitying posts like this and more of the usual nonsense and nob gags.

In the meantime, here is a delightful comic from Pearls Before Swine for you to enjoy.

See ya.

- Fanton.

Who? What? Where? How?

2009-02-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

Hello, Sickbaggers!

I am not dead, nor nearly dead, nor dead but kept alive by a horrifying rage virus - to be honest, I have just not felt like writing for Digital Sickbag for a while, so didn't. Hey, it's a free country (unless you are reading this in a country which heavily infringes upon your civil liberties. In which case I doubt you will be reading this anyway.)

So: what has been going on since the last time I spewed forth into this blog? Well...

* I gained part-time, Christmas employment at HMV, which was good fun! Jimmy Carr came into our store twice, which would be impressive if it wasn't for the fact that I hate Jimmy Carr. But then...

* ...the job's contract ended, thus leaving me unemployed (again). Boooo! Back to watching Jeremy Kyle repeats I go!

* But! I have been quite productive with my new-found spare time. (Of course, it depends on your definition of 'productive).

* I drew THIS, for example! Hee-hee!

* I have also been updating Lord Likely, as well as setting him up a Facebook Group, a Twitter page and even a shop.

* I made these celebrity ghost t-shirts. Here is the ghost of Queen frontman, Freddie Mercury:

I also did Elvis, and Kurt Cobain. Why not buy one?

* I had many poos.

* I found myself getting Popmashed by the excellent Mike Whaite, in celebration of his relaunched Popmash website. Groovy!

* But, best of all, I have met an incredibly beautiful and completely lovely woman, and - rarer still - one who does not seem to be completely repulsed by me, despite me being so wretched. Hooray! She makes me very happy indeed, and is super-special to me already. Bless you, honey!

So yes. Great ups and downs, lefts and rights, but I have been keeping myself busy throughout. I am hoping to be able to bring you some more exciting news shortly, if everything goes according to plan...

Failing that, I shall just fill this blog with nob jokes again, then disappear for months on end.

See you soon!

- Fanton.

Follow me on Twitter. It may or may not be fun, I am not entirely sure.

A New Tenant For The Tardis

2008-10-30T09:28:00.000-07:00

I knew this time would come. It was as inevitable as the changing of the seasons, as sure as night follows day. But I didn't expect it to be this sudden.

Yes, Sickbaggers, I am of course referring to the news that David Tennant is leaving Doctor Who, ending his four year stint as the titular timelord in the BBC's long-running sci-fi series.

I had hoped he might hold out for one series under Stephen Moffat's stewardship (the incoming show runner who previously penned excellent Who stories such as Silence in the Library and Blink), but it seems it is not to be. He will appear at The Doctor for five more specials to be broadcast over the next year and a bit, meaning there is just five, short hours of Tennant left to enjoy.

I know Tennant's tenancy of the TARDIS has divided opinion; the majority seem to love him and think he has really made the role his own, while the moaning minority seem to think he is a useless clown who has no place in such a serious-minded piece of powerful drama as Who. To the latter crowd I only have this irrefutable argument to offer: piss off, you tits.

I for one will miss David Tennant's Doctor immensely; I think he has done a bang-on job in balancing the comic with the dramatic, and it is not for nothing that he has become so popular with the audience. But equally I can quite understand his desire to move on before it is too late, and hope he gets to enjoy even bigger success hereafter.

I was going to do an hilarious 'Who Should Be The Next Who' post (what about Russell Brand? LOL! Or Bill Cosby? ROFFLE! Or a cat in a wig?) but quite frankly it is far too soon to be contemplating the next Doctor. The wounds are still raw, dammit.

Now let me be. I have some mourning to do.

Weeeeep.

- Fanton.

An Extra Hour

2008-10-26T03:10:00.000-07:00

So, the clocks went back one whole hour today, heralding the end of British Summer Time. Of course, most of us spent this extra time sleeping, but what else could you possibly do with an extra sixty minutes? As ever, Digital Sickbag has the answer!

Watch an entire episode of 60 Minutes.
Alternatively, watch two episodes of Hancock's Half Hour.
Bake a potato, then set the clock back, and marvel at how your food was ready in no time at all.
Refuse to set your watch back the one hour, but change all the rest of the clocks in the house, and then pretend you are a time traveller from the future visiting the past.
Boil twenty three-minute eggs, one after the other.
Watch part of a shitty film, read some of a rubbish book, or simply spend an hour doing something you don't like. Then, set the clocks back and be safe in the knowledge that you didn't waste any of your precious time doing those things.
Prepare for the onset of Seasonal Affective Disorder by going out and buying loads of lamps and Prozac.
Before the clocks go back, go out and rob a store, or hot-wire a car or something, and then watch with glee as the time in which you committed your felony is wiped from history, allowing you to completely get away with your crime.
Make love. Thirty times.
Count to 216,000.
Go to Greenwich and be really mean to everyone there. It is Greenwich Mean Time now, after all.
Laugh smugly at people who have forgotten to set their clocks correctly, and revel in their bleary-eyed confusion as they wake up one hour too early.
Refuse to acknowledge the time change, and insist upon living in your own, personal time-zone.
Use the extra hour to finally update your crappy blog which you have been neglecting for the past three weeks.

What will YOU do with this extra hour, Sickbaggers?

- Fanton.

When Celebrities Collide

2008-10-03T05:16:00.000-07:00

Do you like celebrities?

Of course you do. We all do. But do you, like me, worry that there are maybe too many celebrities in the world today, making it a little more difficult to spread the celeb-love equally to them all?

Thank the Maker, then, for Popmash.

Popmash is the genius creation of awesomely awesome animator Michael Whaite (who I have mentioned before, in equally gushing terms, here and here). The concept of Popmash is simple: take two celebrities and fling them together in a genetic tumble-dryer, and marvel at the freakish composite entity that pops out later.

Already Mike's Popmashing madness has led to two brilliant short cartoons; namely Bee Geesus and Mr. Benn-y Hill. Watch them, they're fab.

Recently Mike has been hard at work expanding his Popmash empire, resulting in a spiffy new web site with the added bonus that you can now purchase fine goods bearing the spliced-up celebrities' likenesses. Most excellently of all, this includes t-shirts, so now you can proudly display your love of two famous folk at once, whilst out and about leading your distinctly un-starry lives! HUZZAH!

Here's just a sample of some of the Popmash apparel you can now purchase:

Brilliant. Clearly, the Popmash phenomenon is only going to get bigger, so hop along to the website now, or directly to the Shopmash store, and snap yourself up some top-quality merchandise before everyone else does. That way you'll look waaaaay cool, and you'll probably get shagged heaps too.*

See you on the red carpet!

- Fanton.

*likelihood dependent on physical repulsiveness.

Fanton: Established 1978

2008-09-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

Bloody hell. I am now thirty years old.

Yes, dear readers, as of yesterday I bade a fond farewell to my twenties and found myself staggering into my thirties; 'staggering' being quite the correct word here, as I was partying through Monday night into the wee hours on Tuesday, with some of my very favourite people on the planet. Good times!

I've had lots of people remark on this milestone year, asking me how I feel about hitting the big three-oh. To be honest, I don't really appropriate any large significance to hitting thirty. I certainly don't 'feel' thirty; whether that is due to crippling immaturity and irresponsibility, or whether it is because I have been blessed with incredibly youthful (good) looks, I cannot say. But so far, nothings really changed.

I've just thought: that above statement could be seen as being rather tragic. Here I am, thirty years old, and nothing has really changed over the last few years. Except, y'know, I have no job now.

So, yeah: I'm an awful, thirty year-old jobless loser.

Uh-oh. This party is in danger of going sour. BRING ON THE MUSIC!

I love that tune. For the curious, it is called 'L-O-V-E' and is by a great new band I've recently chanced across called SugaRush Beat Company. Groove-a-licious, as the kids might say. If they were particularly dumb.

Anyway: there we go. Next time I see you, I might have taken to smoking a pipe and wearing a cardigan. But I doubt it.

- Fanton.

I Am Shit, I Am Best

2008-09-19T16:32:00.000-07:00

Its been a rather odd day today, all told.

It began terribly when I got fired this morning from my awful, minimum-wage job, for committing the terrible crime of...eating a hotdog. A hotdog that was due to be chucked in the bin anyway, as it was the end of the night and thus was not going to be sold.

And so, for that horrendous act (no doubt causing the multi-million pound company for which I work untold damage and distress), I had my employment terminated. After seven and a half years of loyal service, it turned out that at the end of the day I was worth less to the company than an old, discarded sausage.

And as an added bonus, this took place only four days before my birthday. DOUBLE FUN!

Naturally, I was less than pleased and felt completely and utterly depressed by the whole affair.

However, on the flip-side of this particular coin, was the fact that when I got back to my house, I found that an earlier, off-the-cuff suggestion to The Guardian's 'Comment is Free' on Twitter had resulted in Lord Likely's blog being selected as one of the 'Best of the Web' on their website!

BEHOLD!

Obviously I'm a little aggrieved to see my stuff BELOW a LOLCats-based story (especially being the purveyor of high-quality RIPDogs, myself), but still, there it was. A link to my writing, on The Guardian's website.

Fuck me.

Since then, I've been fielding loads of text messages, emails and Facebook comments either commiserating with me on the loss of my job, or congratulating me on getting a link from The Guardian. I don't know whether I should be wallowing in self-pity and sadness, or leaping for joy and hurling myself into fresh writing work.

Like I said, its been a really odd day.

Now all I have to do is find a way to build upon my writing success, and, y'know...actually get paid to do it, or something. I think that'd be nice.

Either that, or its off to McDonald's.

See you in the dole queue!

- Fanton.

Virtual Wordsack: One

2008-09-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

Welcome, dear readers!

Having seen the Sickbag become something of a repository for meandering posts about nothing of any interest lately, I thought it was high time I forced this blog back on track, and restored it to its rightful position as the best place on the internet to find the very finest writing imaginable.

To this end, may I welcome you to a new, regular feature on the Sickbag, which I have called 'Digital Sickbag's Virtual Wordsack' (henceforth known as DSVW, which I admit does sound like a car-simulator for Nintendo's current handheld console of choice).

DSVW will feature some of my own personal poetry, created by my own hands and brain, and shared with you, The Internet. It's about time we had some real culture here, wouldn't you agree?

So here for your enjoyment I present my verse. I hope you enjoy. It.

Love Machine

My pistons are pumping
My gears are turning fast
I'm ready for humping
Inspection I have passed.

My motor is turning
My nuts and bolts are tight
My furnace is burning
I'll be running all night

My crankshaft is cranking
My engine purrs inside
Get ready for spanking
-Oh!
My battery has died.

Oh no!
Now I'm leaking oil
See it drip onto the floor
Girl please don't recoil...

This never happened before.

Splish Splash On My Moustache

Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

Aw no look at that it's rainin' down on me,
Coming down hard like an upside-down sea.
This has ruined my day, robbed it of its fizz,
It's like God pulled down his pants and took a mighty whizz.

Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,
Well I took a plane to Spain during Juan Carlos' reign
And do you know what I saw when I got there?
Everywhere was rained upon, it all got its share.

Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

I guess what I'm saying is rain will always get you wet,
I know that's kinda obvious but just don't you forget.
The real reason why the rain has made me so dismayed
Is that its pissed upon my perfectly-planned parade.

Donut

I really don't understand your dislike of the donut
Some people share your views but I simply do not
Why is it that you hate donuts so, what gets you in this knot?
You can tell me honey, let me in your doo-dah nut.

Why do you despise this tasty treat from the bakery?
Did it cheat on you, was it bigamy?
I'm sorry that wasn't very big of me
But I cannot comprehend your hate of this delicacy.

What about the ones with the tasty chocolate icing?
Surely those donuts have got to be somewhat enticing?
Jam donuts I always find so appetising
I really cannot see what it is that you are despising.

Were you bullied by donuts when you were at school?
Did they pick on you and make you look a fool?
'Cos that kind of behaviour is really not cool,
But to take it out on all donuts is just plain cruel.

I'm sorry to go on, girl, but it just shows how much I care,
I hate to see these donuts driving you so very spare,
If you really don't want one then I guess that that's fair,
If you would much prefer, I'll get you an éclair.

To Bille

Oh Billie, Billie, Billie,
Can't you see what you're doing
To my willy, willy, willy?

When I noticed you,
on Doctor Who
You looked so cute I wanted to
Doctor You
We'd fly off in that box of blue,
just like the
Doctor'd do,
We'd find a lonely planet and there we'd screw
I'd really like to
Doggy you.
Yeah!

Now you play a ho
on that TV show
But you're beautiful so
you ain't no ho
I can't believe yo'
would lower yourself so.
But if the rates were reasonable
I'd still give you a go
yeah.

Oh Billie, Billie, Billie,
Can't you see what you're doing
To my willy, willy, willy?

I thank you.

- Fanton.

Five Weeks in the Making

2008-09-04T17:50:00.000-07:00

Cor blimey, guv.

Its been five weeks or so since I last updated the Sickbag. What exactly have I been doing in that time?

I'll tell you what - I came up with this truly EXCELLENT joke. BEHOLD:

Q: What happened to the man who gave Nostradamus a haircut and a shave?

A: He made a tidy prophet!

Ah-hahahahaha!

Well worth the wait, I"m sure you'll agree.

- Fanton.

Items of Interest (Interest May Vary)

2008-08-13T07:13:00.000-07:00

It's lazy blog-post time, as I present a selection of links and 'things' that may be of interest to you (and you) with the minimum of writing in between, and without the need for any jokes or anything approaching creativity. HOORAY!
First up, here's a YouTube video based around my good chum Stu Munro's excellent webcomic, Ray the Otter.

Ray the Otter is a foul-mouthed, misogynistic, racist otter who appears in his own comic, dispensing all manner of offensive quips, much to the bewilderment of his little friend, Mr. Peepers.

Ray has been released from the confines of the comic panel, and thrust into a semi-animated toon by Daveula creator Tom Butler. The result is excellent, disgusting and excellent once more.

Here it is now:

My other good chum, Mike Whaite (he of The Carrotty Kid pilot episode fame) has gone quiet recently, but then returned yesterday in a blaze of glory, with this excellent animation featuring a potty-mouthed hippo singing John Denver's classic track, Annie's Song. It's ruddy ace.

In Lord Likely news, I recently received my first-ever piece of Likely merchandise - a selection of mini-cards bearing his lordship's handsome face, made by those fine folk at moo.com. They are really lovely.

Here they are in fabulous blur-o-vision:

And look! You can even use them as bookmarks! HOORAY!

I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with them. I might send them to loyal Likely fans, or sneak into bookshops and slip them between the covers of every Dan Brown book on the shelves. Decisions, decisions!

Finally, my spoof showbiz website gaup has spluttered back into life, with five - yes, FIVE - new articles awaiting your perusal. Meanwhile, The Carrotty Kid has ground to a temporary halt again. Man, it's hard work juggling all these sites, you know.

That's it for this highly fascinating round-up of stuff and things. See you next time!

- Fanton.

The Superheroes That Hollywood Forgot

2008-08-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

As The Dark Knight flaps onto cinema screens worldwide, during an already superhero-packed year (what with Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, Hancock and Hellboy II having all hit the big screen), it looks as if Hollywood's love affair with comic looks stronger than ever.

And with The Watchmen, Captain America, Wolverine, The Punisher, Thor and The Avengers all waiting on the sidelines for the next few years, Hollywood seems in no hurry to give up on converting colourful caped crusaders to motion-picture marvels.

But superheroes are a finite resource, and it can only be a matter of time before Hollywood plunders the super-powered well dry, and run out of costumed characters to franchise.

Luckily, Digital Sickbag is on hand to alert Mr. Hollywood to a few of the world's lesser-known heroes, which we feel are ripe for the cinematic treatment.

Bananaman: When mild-mannered schoolboy Eric Wimp eats a banana, an astounding transformation occurs - he turns into the lantern-jawed crime-fighter Bananaman.

Having been a mainstay of British comics for the past twenty-five odd years, Bananaman also became the star of a short-lived animated series in the eighties, but so far has not made the leap to the big screen.

We feel the adventures of the utterly useless, Banana-powered superhero and his nutty nemeses Appleman, General Blight and Doctor Gloom would be the perfect tonic to the 'gritty' and 'realistic' comic-fare of late. It might even give the British comics industry a much needed shot in the arm, unless they balls it up like they did with the god-awful Judge Dredd.

Plus, banana sales would sky-rocket.

The Impossibles: During their highly prolific 60s heyday, Hanna-Barbera churned out an awful lot of cartoons, some of which were pure poop.

The Impossibles was one such show, follwoing the escapades of three kids (who played in a band by day) who were also superheroes, and slightly gash ones at that. You had The Coil (blessed with spring-like limbs, and not adept at birth-control as you might suspect), Fluid Man (who could turn into, well...fluid) and Multi Man, who could replicate himself many times over.

The Impossibles battled equally crap villains, such as The Bubbler (preferred weapon of choice: indestructible bubbles), Beamatron (shot lasers from his hands) and the Perilous Paper Man, who could transform into paper and who boasted of 'complete mastery over all office equipment'.

Despite being toss, if Hollywood had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel for fresh superheroics, I suppose they could turn The Impossibles into some kind of superhero parody, or something. But then, Batman and Robin already beat them to it, I suppose.

SuperTed: The star of his very own cartoon in the 1980s, SuperTed must rank as one of the most bizarre shows ever created.

SuperTed begins life as a discarded teddy bear, ejected from the toy factory for being defective. For reasons not quite made clear, a spotty alien (called Spotty, cleverly) takes pity on the discarded bear, and takes him to see Mother Nature, who gives him life, and special powers. For some equally unfathomable reason.

From there on, SuperTed takes to fighting crime, but his line-up of villains made even less sense, featuring as they did a ruthless cowboy, a fat dope and a really, really camp skeleton. It really was bonkers, yet somewhat endearing.

At least a big-budget movie version couldn't make any less sense than Catwoman.

Supergran: Another veteran of British kid's TV, Supergran was a Scottish series about, well, a super gran.

Granny Smith was hit by some sort of beam which gave her super-strength and super-speed, which she put to good use defeating the villainous Scunner Campbell and his henchmen, Muscles and Dustin.

The best thing about Super gran was the excellent theme, recorded by Billy Connolly. We'd pay good money to hear that classic tune pumping through the speakers of our local multiplex.

Altogether now: '"Stand back Superman, Iceman, Spiderman, Batman and Robin too. Don't wanna cause a ruckus, but B. A. Barracus have I got a match for you! She makes them look like a bunch of fairies, she's got more bottle than United Dairies... Hang about... Look out... for Supergran!"

The Ferret: The Ferret was one of Malibu Comics' short-lived titles, featuring a bloke called Cal Denton, who had super-agility and feral powers, and who looked a bit like a singer from an 80s hair-metal band. Plus, he was lumbered with a terrible superhero name that would strike fear in precisely no-one.

"Quick! Here comes the Ferret!"

"The...the what?"

"The Ferret!"

"Wait, are you seriously telling me that dude is called The Ferret? Oh, man! 'Oh no, here comes The Ferret'. We'd better get a burlap bag, or something! What a tool."

"I guess it does sound pretty funny when you look at it like that..."

He was shit, really.

We think there could be some mileage in taking the character and reinventing him for the movies. Have Cal Denton get bitten by a radioactive ferret, and then have him fight crime by wriggling up criminals trouser-legs, and gnawing on their privates.

It'd be a blockbuster, I tell you.

Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen: Red-headed reporter and wacky funster Jimmy Olsen was given his own spin-off comic book back in 1954, which somehow managed to run for twenty years, despite Olsen having no super-powers and being a bit, well, crap.

However, as Fox is spinning Wolverine off into his own movie, and Sony is rumoured to be prepping a solo outing for Venom, it can only be a matter of time before Jimmy Olsen lands his own cinematic series, in which he tries on a fake moustaches, battles gorillas and tries to cut Superman's hair.

We think it could work, but it all depends whether Hollywood is ready to allow a film to be fronted by a character from a much-maligned minority (i.e. gingers).

The Huntsman: You could pluck any character from Warner Brothers' excellent (but brief) cartoon series Freakazoid! for silver screen immortality, but our money would be on The Huntsman.

Each episode of The Huntsman began with an action-packed intro, showing the Huntsman (summoned by the 'Horn of Urgency') fighting criminals and overcoming evil.

But then the episode proper began, with The Huntsman walking into the commissioner's office looking for work. And each week, without fail, the commissioner would reply that there was no crime to fight, leaving the Huntsman to depart, angry and dismayed.

We think a Huntsman movie would be a brilliant alternative to the smash-pow, special effects-laden superhero blockbusters of today. It could just be two hours of The Huntsman and the commissioner talking, lamenting on how quiet the city is, and pondering on the good of a crime fighter with no crime to fight.

Then, The Huntsman could leave in a huff, kicking a bin on the way out, which could be rendered in state-of-the-art CGI just to keep the audience happy.

One ticket, please!

So there you go, Hollywood, some ideas for you to try out. There's no need to thank us, we just want to make sure you keep pumping out those super-powered pictures.

If you must thank us for saving your sorry behinds, please make all cheques out to Digital Sickbag.

Thanks!

- Fanton.

You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'

2008-07-17T05:16:00.000-07:00

Wow. You guys. You guys.

Since yesterday's rather pathetic plea for cash donations to help renew my hosting for my www.thecarrottykid.co.uk domain, you gorgeous, lovely people have taken pity on my terrible plight, and left me richer to the tune of some forty pounds.

Big, sticky thank yous go out to Summer, Shawn, Stephen, Richard and Diane. You are all one hundred percent spectacular. Thank you!

I am genuinely touched and humbled by your generosity. It's the spirit of kindness and humanity on display that has really made me a richer man today.

Well, that and the forty pounds, obviously.

All this loveliness has made me want to dance with joy. In fact, let us all dance together. Let us dance naked, like this lot in this excellent video for a song called Toejam, done by the Brighton Port Authority (aka Norman 'Fatboy Slim' Cook, Talking Heads' frontman David Byrne and Dizzee Rascal). This video made me smile, the song is lovely and it features the most inventive use of censor bars I have ever seen.

I bestow it to you as a big, sloppy thank you to all of you who donated to Carrot Aid.

Enjoy. And thank you again!

- Fanton.

Money For Nothing

2008-07-16T06:03:00.000-07:00

Money, money, money
Must be funny
In the rich man's world.

- Abba, 1976.

Ah, how wise those Swedish songsters were!

Money must be funny in a rich man's world, because it sure as heck isn't funny in this particular poor man's world.

Yup, I'm utterly skint this month, due to a hilarious (read: depressing) chain of events involving the Student Loans Company, my bank and a shed-load of charges. Bastards.

As such, I have precisely fifteen pounds to see me through the rest of the month, which means I could well be dead by the time you read this, if my new diet of super-cheap pasta and baked beans conspires to kill me.

To rub further salt into my penniless wounds, I received notification that my renewal payment for www.thecarrottykid.co.uk (my excellent webcomic) was declined, due to the aforementioned lack of funds, which is doubly annoying because I spent the past two days working on that damned site, only to learn it could disappear just like that.

I have tried to reason with my webhost, but they tell me its an automated process, and after an unspecified period of time, accounts that are in arrears will be deleted.

Sigh.

As well as wiping the Carrotty Kid from the internet, this'll also have a knock-on effect on all the sites in the Likely Empire, as Lord Likely's site and this very blog both use The Carrotty Kid's webspace to host various images and bits and pieces.

IT COULD MEAN THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT.

I don't like to beg, but as the forces of evil rise against me, I figure I might as well throw down my hat and ask for a few pennies from benevolent passers-by.

So, I give you: Carrot Aid.

If you have ever found yourself chuckling at my crazy cartoon carrot, or if you have simply enjoyed the bright colours and swirly lines, then perhaps you would like to donate a little bit to the Carrot Aid Carrot Fund. Or, if you are an avid follower of His Lordship, maybe you too could see your way to throwing a few coins in my virtual hat? Pretty please?

Obviously, I'm not going to force anyone to part with their precious cash, nor will I hate you if you don't give anything, but in these desperate times, desperate measures are called for, so I thought I'd give it a try anyway.

You can give to Carrot Aid via the ChipIn widget below, or via PayPal directly. Or, alternatively, you could buy one of my fabulous t-shirts on redbubble.com, and thus get something back for your donation!

Just two pounds could save me from having to eat Pot Noodles ever again.

Fifteen pounds could save a young carrot's life.

Thirty pounds could help keep a sozzled aristocrat in whisky and gin for an entire day.

Thanks in advance to anyone willing to stump up a few coins to allow me to continue churning out my high-quality comedy products. I promise to pay you back in sheer wealth of chuckles!

Maybe.

Cheers!

- Fanton.

I Wish I was a Doodlebug

2008-07-14T19:09:00.000-07:00

It's Doodle Time!

The lovely Claire is once again throwing open a doodle-based challenge to all those who read her frankly fabulous blog, A Little Piece of Me.

The challenge? To doodle, dammit!

I missed the last Doodle Week, (due to me being slightly crap at getting around to stuff) but this time I'm ready. I even have my finest crayons at hand.

The theme of today's Doodle Challenge is the Doodlebug, and so here is my take on this particular theme:

Man, I wish I was a Doodlebug. Those extra limbs would come in handy for completing the many projects and ideas I have floating about, but for which I never seem to have enough time.

Curse you, Doodlebug! Why must you mock me this way?

Talking of doodles and projects that have been neglected (God, I'm great at linking things together) today also heralds the return of my semi-successful webcomic The Carrotty Kid. It's been six long months since I last did any carrot-based cartoonery, and I have missed the little orange bugger a bit. Look, here he is now, doing some kung-fu or something:

Bless him. Why not visit the homegrown hero at his website, so I don't wind up having wasted an entire day? Please?

Right, I'm off. I think I've got artists' cramp. Then again, it might just be wankers' cramp. It's hard to tell, really. I've done a lot of drawing today, but I've also done more than my fair share of tossing, as well. Ah, well!

Next time I take on Brent's challenge, thrown down from the almighty Comma! Will I succeed, or fail terribly? And why is everyone out to challenge me, anyway?

Find out at some point this week!

Tara for now!

- Fanton.

The Shirt Off My Back

2008-07-08T18:12:00.000-07:00

Hey, consumers!

Do you like t-shirts? Do you like wearing t-shirts? Do you like wearing t-shirts with vaguely amusing pictures upon them?

You do? WELL YOU'RE IN LUCK!

In association with the fine folk at redbubble.com, I have designed not one but TWO wonderful t-shirts for you to look at and then buy and thus keep me alive for another month.

First up, this jolly little number featuring a certain Mr. Grim Reaper:

Oh, Mr. Reaper! You'll be the death of me! Buy this shirt, HERE!

Secondly, it's the return of everyone's favourite homegrown hero, The Carrotty Kid, who has gone from failed TV pilot, to failed webcomic and is now a lovely t-shirt, ready to adorn your chest or breasts. KA-POW!

Buy that tasty little number, HERE.

Who knows? If enough people buy a shirt, maybe I can stop eating the stuff I find on the floor.

redbubble is quite a funky Australian-based site, of which the marketplace is only a small part. There is an excellent social side to the site, allowing you to meet some sickeningly gifted artists, chat to them, and then you can gaze in awe at their fabulous works. It's a bit like a gallery, except there's no creepy guards following you about making sure you don't touch the Pointilists.

I thank the sexily talented cleandemon for drawing my attention to this wonderful world of wonder.

Bye-bye!

(Buy buy).

- Fanton.

What Time Do You Call This, Sonny?

2008-07-02T04:31:00.000-07:00

Hello!

I have rather neglected this blog and all my blogging activities of late, for which I humbly apologise and beg for your forgiveness.

I have been struck with a mixture of extreme laziness and apathy of late, but I took some tablets and it seems to have cleared up nicely.

So: I am back, and ready to roll. As well as all my blogging stuff, I'm also working on what may turn out to be a proper, full-paying cartooning gig; as well as toying with some new ideas for Lord Likely...so watch this space.

In other news, I may be a little distracted this week, as I'm counting down the days until the grand finale of the current series of Doctor Who airs. Last week's cliffhanger had me literally soiling myself with excitement, and I simply cannot wait to see how it all pans out.

If you've yet to see last week's Who, then look away now. For the rest of us, here's the teaser for next Saturday's episode:

Oooh! I just did a little more wee.

I'll be back with a better-quality post soon. Until then, take care of yourselves, and each other.

Byeee!

- Fanton.

Blade Runner

2008-05-26T04:58:00.000-07:00

So, there I was, minding my own business, walking home after a long ten-hour shift at work, when a couple of guys stop me and one of them pulls a knife on me.

It's funny how these things suddenly happen out of the blue, isn't it? Of course, by 'funny' I mean 'horrifying'.

It was a Friday night like any other, and I was heading home, taking the same route I always do. The Sweeney Todd soundtrack was playing on my MP3 player, and as I enjoyed Johnny Depp's mock-cockney tones mourning the loss of his dear Johanna, I noticed a couple of figures on the other side of the street.

Based on a cunning survival strategy of not approaching strangers, I chose to ignore them, and crossed over to the other side of the road. Unfortunately, it seemed these strangers did not want to ignore me so easily, and so crossed the street as well, and thereby went from being completely ignored to fully acknowledged.

One of the two went behind me, while the other took to the front, a classic Pincer Movement as favoured by military campaigners throughout history, and by lions in the wild. Which would make me the hapless gazelle caught between two predators.

The guy in front of me blocked my path and refused to budge, forcing me to dislodge the singing barber from my ears and ask what it was that they wanted. I figured they'd be after a cigarette, or something.

"Do you want something?" I said.

"Yeah," came the rather blunt reply. What that something was he didn't elaborate on, and just stared at me.

"Well, what?" I continued. "What is it?"

Then there was a sound that I recognised all too well from my time unpacking boxes in a supermarket - the ratcheting sound of a blade being pushed up several notches on a retractable blade. I looked down to where the noise was coming from, and there it was, clutched in the bloke's hand, blade down.

Terror gripped me, and a thousand thoughts jostled for supremacy in my head, the loudest of which was simply, 'SHIT!' Not very useful, maybe, but entirely appropriate.

I had no idea what to do. I'm entirely useless in any kind of confrontation, and posses precisely zero kung-fu skills, despite having watched dozens of Jean Claude Van-Damme films. I could not formulate any feasible plan to ensure my continued survival, and was almost resigned to the inevitable stabbing.

"What?" I said dumbly, hoping to get some vague idea of what these two wanted. The man in front of me said nothing, fixing me with an ice-cold stare. He angled his body towards me, while the other guy remained behind. Fuck, I thought. This is it. This is how it ends, at the hands of two shitty little bastards, on a dark street in Portsmouth. What a crap way to go. If I had to go, I'd rather it was at the hands of a dozen, nude, wild nymphomaniacs or something. Not this. This was rubbish.

What the hell did they want, anyway? Were they just wanting to stab someone tonight? Or did they want to mug me? If it was the latter, then they'd be sorely disappointed. I had approximately seven pounds on me, and the MP3 player I had been enjoying Sweeney Todd on cost me a fiver form Tescos. I almost hoped they did want to rob me. The slim pickings upon my person would teach them to pick far wealthier targets in the future.

Whatever they wanted, I began to wish they'd get on with it. But still they remained silent and unmoving, not giving me the slightest hint of their intentions. I was sure I was going to be struck at any minute. I was sure they were going to pounce in a flash. Any time now...

However, it seemed that my time was not yet, for at this moment the fates intervened, or God chose to spare me, or Lady Luck fluttered her eyelashes, whatever you choose to believe. For suddenly another man passed-by, going about his business entirely unaware of my current situation. His sudden appearance took my two captors by surprise, and they both seemed to relax themselves, in an attempt to make it look less like they were about to stab me, and more like we were just hanging out together, having a lovely time.

Suddenly, my brain stopped hurling expletives around my skull and threw out an order to the rest of my body.

NOW! It screeched. Move now! Don't wait for the passer-by to pass on by, so we can resume the business of getting stabbed. Just get the hell out of here.

My legs happily obeyed, and I brushed past the guy with the blade, figuring that he'd be reluctant to do any stabbing in front of this passer-by. The blade-wielding bloke seemed surprised by my sudden movement, and tried to slow me with his elbow as I passed, but I was not stopping for anyone now. I was out of there.

Bizarrely, I didn't run. I walked fast, of course, but I didn't take to my feet at full pelt, which seems odd when I look back on it. I just marched up the road, and didn't look back, not even when one of the guys yelled, "You were lucky," after me.

I was lucky. I already knew that.

The full shock and horror of this night-time encounter didn't really sink in until after I had gotten back home, and even then it wasn't right away. No, the first thing I did when I got in was to go and make a cup of tea. Sadly, however, we were out of milk, so without even thinking I went back outside to go to the shop to get some more.

What the fuck was I thinking?

It was only when I returned from the shop, and sat down with a nice cuppa and a few cigarettes that the shock caught up with me. Panic and fear enveloped me, and one thought kept circling through my mind - what if that passer-by hadn't appeared?

I was in quite a state, and I had no-one to talk to as the house was empty. So, I picked up the phone and called my dad, who listened as I blurted my story down the phone, stammering and blubbering in equal measure. I felt bad for burdening my parents with my woes at such a late hour, but I did manage to get most of the previously bottled-up emotions out, and began to regain something approaching some form of composure.

My next duty was to telephone my place of work, and let them know of the incident so they called forewarn any of my colleagues who might be planning to go home that way. Then I phoned my housemate and warned him (who heeded my warning, despite being steaming drunk), and then I finally phoned the police, which proved to be a massive waste of time because they were 'too busy' to come and take a statement from me, but they told me that they hoped to drop by in the next couple of days.

I'm still waiting to hear from them.

So there you go. That is how I spent my week-end. How was yours?

- Fanton.

I'm Bringing Carrots Back

2008-05-16T04:30:00.000-07:00

While I take a break from the ball-crushing schedule of updating The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, I have begun work on a couple of new and newish projects.

The first is TOP SECRET and cannot be revealed yet, lest I jinx the whole enterprise and ruin it for ever. Not that I'm superstitious or anything. (Anyone have any four-leaf clovers or rabbit's feet on them?)

The other is the return of my other, more family-friendly creation, The Carrotty Kid.

I stopped updating The Carrotty Kid's site earlier this year, largely because I began to think that maybe I was actually no good at this cartooning lark, despite having doodled and scribbled for most of my life.

However, I still draw the odd picture for Lord Likely's site, which I've enjoyed doing, and thanks to my recent assignment of drawing comic strips for the vue cinemas newsletter, I've suddenly felt a resurgence of confidence in my (admittedly limited) abilities. Especially when I submitted the last vue comic, which I was particularly proud of, and which I've reproduced here for you to look at with your eyes:

Haha! Oh, Batman!

As well as rediscovering my artistic mojo (as it were), I've been reading a fair few webcomics which have all inspired me to pick up my pens again. Stuff like the ever-excellent Dinoballs, Jamie Smart's new venture Whubble and the legendary Beaver and Steve have all given me the cartooning itch, which I am now determined to scratch. Scratch hard until it BLEEDS.

Thus inspired and full of fire, I've decided that I am going to relaunch The Carrotty Kid's website next month. I love the little vegetable vigilante, as he was a creation I came up with as a kid and has been my most successful idea yet, earning me some paid work from the UK's finest animation studio, Cosgrove Hall Films, which in turn led to CK becoming the star of his own three-minute pilot episode which would have led to a full series, if only Children's ITV hadn't imploded in on itself. The swines.

The new-look Carrotty Kid will be a bit different from before. I'm going to re-jig the character's design slightly, and I'm going to change the site's format a bit to prevent me (and the readers) from getting bored. Hopefully the end result will be one-hundred percent excellent, and nought percent rubbish.

Of course, with me going back to cartooning, my other ventures may have to suffer slightly. Lord Likely will be dropping to a twice-weekly update schedule (from his current three posts a week), and my spoof showbiz site gaup may well be killed off altogether, unless anyone reading wants to pick up the baton and run with it.

So there you go. Get ready for the return of everyone's favourite kung-fu carrot, coming to a monitor screen near you in June 2008. Go and visit the website now to see a bit of teaser art, and an exciting countdown clock, counting down the days until CK's rebirth.

It's so exciting, you might just PEE.

In other news, please welcome back Mike Whaite to the internet. Mike was the guy responsible for pretty much all the animation in The Carrotty Kid's pilot episode (which you should go and watch and remark on how excellent it is, by the way) and a guy with whom I seemed to click instantly. He's ridiculously talented and excellent, so check out his wondrous portfolio here and fab little website Popmash. He good.

And finally, keep checking Lord Likely's site, to read some truly excellent guest posts from some fine guest writers. Everyone's done a tip-top job thus far, and I thank you all from the bottom of my trousers. Thank you.

Right. That's it for now. I've got vegetables to draw. Tara!

- Fanton.

What The Hell Am I Doing?

2008-05-14T17:50:00.000-07:00

Hello, Sickbaggers!

It's alright, I haven't died or anything. Or maybe I have, and maybe someone else has hacked into my Blogger account and is pretending to be me RIGHT NOW, while in actual fact I am buried in a garden somewhere, covered in ants.

Or maybe I'm a ghost, writing this on my ghostly PC. Which would make me the very definition of a ghost writer. Hahahaha!

Seriously though, I'm not dead.

I've been taking a bit of a break from blogging and inter-netting for a couple of weeks, just so that I can do other things like enjoy the sunshine, read books and throw pens at gypsies all day long. Just a few of my favourite things.

So I apologise for my absence, and for not visiting you and your lovely web-logs, but I just wanted to step back for a bit and take a wee break. As in a small break, not just a break for weeing.

Although, incidentally, I have been weeing during my wee break.

Anyway, I'm jabbering now.

I'll be back in a week or two, but in the meantime why not visit The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, where a slew of top-notch guest writers are stepping up to the proverbial plate and knocking out some wonderfully excellent (and excellently wonderful) guest posts, while I sit around lounging around doing bugger all. It's a good life.

Speak again soon!

BYEEE!

- Fanton.

Gremlins in the Works

2008-05-02T02:20:00.000-07:00

Hello, there!

Below is the best TV ad I have ever seen, featuring not only Peter Jones from off of Dragons' Den (a show I am rather to fond of), but also those pint-sized pests the gremlins, last seen on our screens in Gremlins 2: The New Batch back in 1990. It's an excellent advert, which made me smile and which makes me really want to see another Gremlins movie. NOW!

Here be it:

Talking of gremlins, my job has thrown a few gremlins into the works of late, hence no Lord Likely update since Monday. I know, I'm rubbish, but hopefully his lordship will return over the week-end.

See ya!

- Fanton.

So Close, And Yet So Far

2008-04-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

Those of you who follow the fate and fortunes of the publishing industry may already know that The Friday Project - a small publisher set up in 2005 with the aim of converting the best of the web to proper books - went into liquidation last month.

What you probably won't know is that last December I had quite a jolly meeting with the (entirely lovely and very amiable) folk at The Friday Project, with a view to publishing a proper, fully-fledged Lord Likely book. With pages and a cover, and everything.

The meeting went very well, so this news is doubly sad, as it means the end of what could have been the Greatest Literary Event of All Time. But hey ho, such is life.

I'm making quite a habit of getting tantalisingly close to having my work published or screened. As well as the Lord Likely book, I also managed to get very near to getting an animated series made based around another of my characters, The Carrotty Kid. I got all the way up to the pilot episode stage, before the UK kid's TV market seemed to implode in on itself, and the series never came to pass.

Still, I got a shiny DVD out of it, containing an exciting glimpse of what could have been:

So, I'm still struggling on, and still hoping that one day one of my ridiculous ideas will finally earn me some money.

Now, can anyone spare me a tenner?

- Fanton.

Dreadlock Holiday

2008-04-22T10:17:00.000-07:00

Hey! Guess what! No, not that. Or that. No, not that, either. I'll have to tell you - I'm on holiday! Yippee!

Of course, being a 'struggling artist' (read: penniless hobo), I can't afford to go anywhere sunny and nice, but hey - at least I'm not at work. Huzzah!

Instead, I am spending some time with my parents, my sister and their pets, back home in Ringwood. Ringwood is a little market town on the outskirts of the New Forest, in the South of England, and is famous for three things:

1. It has a brewery.
2. It was used for location filming for the BBC sitcom The Brittas Empire.
3. The 1st Duke of Monmouth was held in the town in 1685, before being executed.

There's not a great deal to do in the town, to be honest, but its nice enough to return to once in a while, to escape city life for a bit.

So, in the absence of anything else to do, I have been taking snaps of things with my digital camera.

Therefore, it's now...HOLIDAY PHOTO TIME! (Try not to snore too loudly).

Me and my parents' frankly excellent cat, Sid. Look at his cute face!
And the cat's. Hahahahaha! Oh my!

The family dog, Ringo. The stupidest thing on four legs.

Me in my 'I'm Kind of a Big Deal' t-shirt which I won via Fuel My Blog.
I've been meaning to snap myself in it for a while now,
and finally - FINALLY - I have gotten round to it. Hooray!

That darn dog again.

And there's the cat again. Note his unamused face. He is less of a LolCat, and more of a FuckYouCat.

Ringo, meanwhile, auditions to be a RipDog.

Even when on holiday, I'm still hard at work on The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely. I just never stop - and it's all for YOU.

Finally, big hugs to you all. Awwww. How sweet.
(PS: I have my nob out, just out of shot).

So there you go.

Tomorrow, I might go and take some pictures of some crows or something. Or possibly my ball-bag.

- Fanton.

The Funniest Line in Movie History

2008-04-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

It just is. DON'T ARGUE.

Taken from Carry On Cleo (1964).

I'm still alive, too. HUZZAH! More stuff...SOON.

- Fanton.

Getting Back to Business

2008-04-03T18:49:00.000-07:00

Hello, chums!

This is another slightly dull inform-o-post, designed to fill your head with facts about my life that you probably didn't wish to know. For that, I apologise in advance.

Actually, no I don't It's my bloody blog, and I'll do as I please. ALRIGHT?

Anyway, having been kept busy lately by various work-related shenanigans, I am happy to say that I finished my last comic strip for the vue Cinema newsletter this morning (at the ungodly hour of half four in the morning), thus freeing up my time once more to do other stuff. HOORAY!

First on my agenda is tossing off a post for the British Speak blog, where Lord Likely will be cuming up with as many different euphemisms for having a wank, purely for educational purposes, of course.

Then, I hope to finally get around to updating my poor, neglected gaup site, and maybe even do a few new RIPdogs and other such nonsense.

Plus, I have plans for my sadly abandoned Carrotty Kid site, which I aim to get around to some time this Millennium. Whew!

Of course, most of this stuff will have to wait until 7pm on Saturday, as between 6.20pm and 7pm I shall be glued to my TV set, like a wide-eyed child, gurgling with glee at the return of one of my all-time favourite television shows, Doctor Who.

I can't help it. I love the time-travelling lunatic.

I'll leave you with the trailer for the fourth series of the BBC's family-friendly sci-fi smash-hit, while I go off and visit some of your blogs that I've been too busy to visit lately. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?

I'll be RIGHT BACK.

Tara!

- Fanton.

I've Got Something Big and Hard in my Hands

2008-04-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

When not sitting around in my pants writing the three most hilarious blogs known to mankind, I work in my job which pays me money so that I can buy electricity and more pants for me to sit around in later.

The lovely Claire from A Little Piece of Me enquired as to the nature of my employment in the comments on my last post, so I thought I'd enlighten her and all of you by answering that query right here, with words which I will type in a paragraph below.

I work in one of the many Vue Cinemas dotted throughout this land, as a general till-jockey and dogsbody, selling tickets and popcorn to the film-going masses. (Of course, when anyone asks me, I tell them I work in the film industry. It sounds much more impressive.)

The job doesn't pay a great deal, and the hours can be a bit gruelling at times, but I do get to watch films for the princely sum of no pounds and no pence, and the people I work with are some of the nicest and most demented people I have met. So it's all good.

A couple of months ago, I was told that the in-house company newsletter was looking for creative submissions to enliven the news-sheet, and I was asked whether I might be able to supply a comic-strip for it. I agreed, put on my thinking hat and my doodling trousers, and set to work.

After discarding many lewd and inappropriate attempts, I finally gave them the cartoon wonder you can behold below:

Hahahahaha!

Anyway, despite the bloody and violent nature of the comic, the powers-that-be were delighted with it, and it went into the next issue of the newsletter, ready to delight Vue workers up and down the land.

I was told I would receive a prize for my efforts, but to be honest I wasn't holding much hope for the prize being any good. I imagined it might be a Vue-emblazoned t-shirt, or free popcorn, or something.

Imagine my fully-erect delight when the prize arrived last Saturday, and turned out to be a brand, spanking new Sony PlayStationPortable! I literally peed with joy! (Well, okay, not literally. Although there may have been some seepage).

I was well chuffed, at any rate, and have since been playing the brilliantly barmy Loco Roco pretty much non-stop. It's a ridiculously cute and wholly charming video game, wherein you play a giant, orange blob rolling through surrealistic landscapes eating fruit and avoiding nasties.

It's simple and tons of fun, and thus gets my official seal of approval.

Look, here's my official seal of approval now:

You said it, chum!

So there you go. That's what I do.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. I'm building a Loco House and I need more parts to make a really awesome playground.

See ya!

- Fanton.

All Apologies

2008-03-27T19:18:00.000-07:00

Hello!

This is just a short post today.

See ya!

Hahaha! I crack me up.

No, the real purpose of this post is just to explain my distinct absence from the wacky World Wide Web this week. Since Monday, I've barely set foot upon the virtual super-highway, let alone driven a big truck of comedic wonder down it.

That is because my real, paying job (as tedious and unfulfilling as it is) has decided to gobble up as many of my life's precious hours as possible this week. I've been shackled with three ten hour shifts in a row, PLUS I had to attend a stupid staff meeting at midnight tonight, which was RUBBISH, and has left me with no free hours in which to ~~masturbate~~ write my usual HILARIOUS 'stuff'.

I'll be working over the week-end too, but for those who care, I hope to update The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely tomorrow night-ish, and then do a new gaup on Monday-ish. Ish.

So: apologies for not frequenting everyone's fine blogs as much as I would like, and for failing to respond to e-mails and other such gubbins. And of course, I'm truly sorry for depriving you all of my incredible, shining wit and wondrousness.

Normal business will resume ASAP, unless I choose to sleep for a hundred years.

Be right back, chums!

- Fanton.

Egg-cellence

2008-03-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter, chums!

As the technology does not yet exist to send chocolate directly through wires and into your mouth, I'll have to give you this excellent Easter gift instead.

ENJOY.

- Fanton

(The above animation was created by the egg-stremely talented Michael Whaite, a thoroughly good egg himself.)

Flogging A Dead Dog

2008-03-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

It seems I was not alone in my hatred for those effing lolcats.

Slowly but surely, the RIPdogs phenomenon has attracted loyal supporters like flies around, well, a dead dog, I suppose.

neOnbubble was the first to leap upon the morbid bandwagon, when Mark Hooper came up with two fine additions to the RIPdogs canon of his very own, giving the RIPdogs movement a much-needed shot in the paw.

Then, Mr. Scaryduck, a good judge of excellence himself, gave the RIPdogs a glowing endorsement in this post, which lead to literally many people dropping by the Sickbag to see what all the fuss was about.

Two of these many visitors then clasped the rotting canine corpses to their chests, and chose to highlight this brand new craze in their own blogs.

Sigg3 chose the RIPdogs as his link of the day, and also provided a fine link of his own, containing an image which could be seen as the very first RIPdog. Except not dead.

James Shearhart, of Elysium Asylum followed next, giving the RIPdogs a quick nod in his own fine blog.

Phew! Thanks, everyone, for lending your support to the RIPdogs cause. Soon, we shall have those lolcats (or as I hilariously like to dub them, 'loltwats') scampering back up their virtual tree, where they can stay for all ruddy eternity, as far as I'm concerned.

BUT WAIT! It's not over yet. As the owner of many fine blogs myself, I am in completely the right position to help my own cause, by instigating cross-platform promotion and developing a synergistic approach to branding, or some such bollocks that marketing men might say.

What I'm basically trying to say is that there are fresh RIPdogs (well, as fresh as they can be, in their condition) over on my HILARIOUS showbiz parody magazine, gaup.

Here's a sneaky preview:

Now go check out the rest.

Rest in Peace, out there.

- Fanton.

RIPdogs

2008-03-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

What is it with lolcats?

I think I've well and truly missed the boat with this particular internet phenomenon, whereby people caption pictures of cats doing stuff, using nothing but 'lolspeak'.

These fuzzy bastards have been turning up all over the web, like some kind of whiskered virus. Hell, even The Observer recently declared icanhazcheeseburger - the site which coughs up these pictures like a cat would a furball - as being one of the 50 most powerful blogs on the web.

Christ on a donkey.

Therefore, I have decided that spending hours trying to write lengthy stories about drunken aristocrats and stupid celebrities is a complete and utter waste of my time, when I could be coining it in for doing nothing more than sticking a few words on a picture.

I have seen the future, and it is furry.

So, using the formula that acronym + animal = internet infamy, may I present to you my latest creation:

RIPdogs.

RIPdogs feature pictures of dead dogs, accompanied by two simple captions; one detailing the deceased dog's name and life-span, and one explaining how the canine came to be expired - with HILARIOUS results!

I tell you, it'll be the internet phenomenon to end all internet phenomenons.

BEHOLD!

Man, I can almost hear the thunder of approaching visitors and money-hungry advertisers.

Go on - try it yourself!

- Fanton.

RIPdog UPDATE: In less than 24 hours after launching this latest viral phenomenon, fresh RIPdogs have appeared on the frankly excellent neOnbubble site.

I salute Mark Hooper for his good work, and urge EVERYONE ELSE to now go forth and make their own RIPdogs, so that they may clog up the virtual super-highway like a ten-lane lorry spill. Get to it, my lovelies!

(DISCLAIMER: No dogs were actually harmed in the making of this web sensation. All images are actually of dogs sleeping, obtained from stock.xchang. So please do not mourn them. Yet.)

Weekend? What weekend?

2008-03-08T21:15:00.000-08:00

I hate it when I get an idea.

Since Friday, when I first thought of creating a new website, I've been plugging away at making the bloody thing, wrote several posts, spent hours grappling with code, made some pictures, and then put it all together.

Now, it's finally done. Hoo-fucking-ray!

Behold the fruits of my tireless labours: gaup, a spoof celebrity news site featuring a whole load of stuff, including a lovely picture of a colon, and a half-naked Billie Piper.

I hope you guys like it. At least pretend you do. You have no idea how long I spent slaving over hot pixels for it.

And THEN I even did a new post for Lord Likely, and now I feel like I want to sleep FOREVER. Sometimes I think I must be a mental case. I have no idea why I do this to myself.

It must be for the chicks.

"Thanks, Fanton!"

Bloody hell. That wasn't very funny, was it?

Well, I think that proves that my brain is officially shutting down now. Plus, I think my eyes are melting. So I'm going to try and catch at least thirty winks.

Tara!

- Fanton.

Lighten Up!

2008-03-07T10:22:00.000-08:00

Behold, loyal readers! A brave new era dawns upon Digital Sickbag, as we unveil are slightly new look!

Basically, all we did was change the background colour from black to white, and added a spiffy new header.

But still, it looks pretty good, yeah? To be honest, the old colour scheme was starting to depress me, as it felt like I was hiding in a darkened corner of the internet, like some kind of filthy pervert or something.

Now, it looks a lot brighter and more inviting, don't you think?

DON'T YOU?

In other news, I hope to be launching another EXCELLENT website soon, destined to go down in history as the Greatest Thing Ever Made By Man, and fully justifying the creation of the internet.

Or it might just be stupid and filled with nob-gags.

UPDATE: here is a little promotional piece for the forthcoming New Site of Excellence:

INTRIGUE!

Well, it seems like the future's going to be sticky, and full of sick.

HOORAY!

- Fanton.

Thank You, Jesus, For Your Sweet Buns

2008-03-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

I am not a particularly religious man, but around about this time of year I cannot help but drop to my knees and give thanks to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ for his supreme sacrifice. If it was not for Jesus dying on the cross for all our sins, I would not be here right now enjoying a plate of delicious hot cross buns.

I really love hot cross buns. Of all the buns, they are probably my favourite, but they are a largely seasonal treat, lining shop shelves in the run up to Easter. Sure, you CAN find them in some stores during the rest of the year, but it is only around Easter time that they suddenly start appearing everywhere - and better still, they seem to come down in price and get bundled in all sorts of 'Buy One Pack, Get One Free' deals.

Truly, this is a glorious time of year for the hot cross bun aficionado.

Despite my love of the humble hot cross bun, I can't say I really know all that much about them, except that a) they're not hot and b) they're really tasty. I don't have a clue about how they came to be, or who was the first bright spark to conceive the idea of putting a cross on a bun in order to commemorate the passing of the Messiah. Maybe the hot cross bun represents a really early example of merchandising at its most crude.

Whatever the genesis of the idea, I would have dearly liked to have sat in on that particular meeting...

(The scene is set at Bernie's Buns, a small food stall in Jerusalem).

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: Hey, Abe - did you hear the news? That Jesus fellah is going to be crucified today.

Abe: What, the Son of God? Bloody hell, they don't muck about, these Romans.

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: I know, I know. It's tragic, is what it is.

Abe: Yeah, yeah. Terrible.

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: Yeah.

[PAUSE]

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: But I was thinking, Abe...sales of our delicious buns have been really sluggish, lately. An', well, everyone's talkin' about this crucifixion...so what about if we were to start, well...putting little crosses on the buns?

Abe: Little crosses? That's a touch morbid, ain't it? Next you'll be tellin' me folk will want to wear little crosses around their necks!

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: Hear me out, Abe. I think there's a market for it, I really do. Everyone loves a good crucifixion, and people love buns. Why not bring together these seemingly disparate and unrelated strands together in one wholesome, baked good?

Abe: Are you suggestin' that as Jesus Christ - Our Lord and Saviour and the Son of God - lies dyin' on the cross for all our sins so that we may gain entry to the Kingdom of Heaven upon our death, that we cash in on his indescribably painful death with a cheap, novelty bun?

Bernie, the Bun Salesman: Well...yeah.

Abe: I like it! Quick, pass me some icing.

I think that's probably almost exactly what happened. Either that, or the other option is that Jesus was actually crucified upon a giant bun.

Whatever the truth, hot cross buns are excellent, and I give praise for them.

Although I'm probably going to Hell now for this post, but then at least I'll be guaranteed some really hot cross buns down there.

- Fanton.

Judgement Day

2008-02-25T19:38:00.000-08:00

It's the moment you've ALL been waiting for, readers - it's competition winner announcement time! HOORAY!

I apologise for the delay, but I have been a bit sickly over the last few days (awwwwww!) However, it seems that my body is kicking the flu right in the plums, so I can now return to my blog-related duties. DOUBLE HOORAY!

The Digital Sickbag competition, Lights, Camera Blog!, drew a WHOPPING five entries from a fine selection of bloggers across the GLOBE. Well, America, mostly. A big thank you to each and every one of you!

To help me judge the five finalists, I have enlisted the help of respected art critic, historian and television pundit Brian Sewell, who will donate his vast expertise and critical nous, and help us select a winner. So, without further ado, here are the exhibits in our glorious gallery of wonder. Click the images to enlarge...

Entry #1: Chelle, The Offended Blogger.
'The Offended Blogger Movie'.

Entry #2: Roufa Tav Gosou & Mimi Lass
'Banana'.

Entry #3: Bimmy the Bookish
'Frog Blog Dog Log'.

Entry #4: .45 Caliber
'The .45 Caliber Menace'.

Entry #5: Grumpus
'When Things Get Dark'.

Brian Sewell Says:

"Well, what a varied and diverse range of entries, I must say. Mmmmm. Chelle's entry makes good use of the film poster format, with a catchy tagline ('Offending Soon At A Theatre Near You') and a nice, clean, eye-catching design. I enjoy the way the colours pop out against the black background. It makes my willy hard.

"The entry entitled 'Bananas' is brilliantly cheeky, in letting the original poster do most of the work, due to the fortuitous coincidence that both the original film and the blog share the same name. Brazen, but it makes my balls firm up a great deal.

"Entry number three, by Bimmy, once again boasts a lovely tagline ('More Fun Than You Can Shake A Wet Dog At') and displays a playful sense of fun, much like myself when running naked through a leafy glen. Mmmmmm.

"The .45 Caliber entry is wonderfully designed, very sharp and slick, and makes superb use of that young lady from the pop charts, who I used to picture licking my scrotum whenever I masturbated, before she went all nuts and shit.

"The final entry, from Grumpus, fills me with a feeling of doom, for reasons I cannot place. The use of an Indiana Jones poster is inspired, especially with a new movie in the offing. A shrewd move, that makes semen dribble slowly from the tip of my penis."

Well, thank you Mr. Sewell. You've been most informative, and surprisingly filthy.

AND NOW...THE WINNER!

Brian Sewell and I had a heated discussion, then we wrestled naked for a bit, and then we came to the same conclusion: that the winner of the first ever Digital Sickbag contest is...

(Drumroll)

(Bit more drumroll)

(Just a bit more)

...Mr. .45 Caliber!

(Applause, cheers).

Congratulations, sir! 200 whole Entrecard Credits will be deposited into your off-shore bank account anytime soon, as well as permanent links on the Digital Sickbag sidebar of Glory, and on Lord Likely's blogroll to boot.

I am really, truly grateful to all of you who took the time to enter this daft little contest, and I genuinely did laugh out loud at the madness and inventiveness on display. You're all winners, in my book.

.45 Caliber is just MORE winner, that's all!

- Fanton.

Just in case any lawyers are reading, Mr. Brian Sewell did not endorse our contest in any way, shaper or form, nor did he actually take part in any judging or say anything dirty. It's all just a bit of fun.

Sick As A Parrot

2008-02-22T04:59:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling sick.

In fact, I'm feeling as sick as a parrot. Specifically, this parrot:

I'm full of the flu at the moment, so will be spending the next couple of days sneezing and coughing and looking sullen. Therefore, if you are so inclined, you can keep submitting your excellent entries for our equally excellent competition, and I'll try to get around to announcing a winner by Monday-ish.

Sorry about that! In the meantime, feel free to heap your pity and sympathy upon my weakened shoulders, and I will speak to you all SOON!

If I'm not DEAD by then.

- Fanton.

Happy Moranismas, Everyone!

2008-02-17T05:42:00.000-08:00

Forget Valentine's Day, Pancake Day and Easter ruddy Sunday. There is only one festival worth celebrating at this time of year - Moranismas.

Moranismas is an annual celebration of Canadian comic and movie actor Rick Moranis, a celebration concocted by my good self and my best chum, Stu Munro (see here to witness some of Stu's brilliant web-comics, by the way!) Every February 17th, Stu and I get together and indulge in a festival of all things Rick, by watching back-to-back Moranis movies while chugging down beers and filling our faces with donuts (the preferred food and drink of the McKenzie brothers in the Rick Moranis-penned film, Strange Brew). It truly is a most magical of days.

I can't quite recall how this special day came about, but I'm guessing that large quantities of alcohol were involved in its genesis, alongside our life-long passion for the diminutive, nerdy actor and his fine body of work; including celluloid classics like Ghostbusters, Little Shop of Horrors, Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Spaceballs and Head Office.

Actually, forget Head Office. That one's rubbish.

So, we thought it was high-time Moranis was given his own day, a yearly opportunity for us to stop and contemplate the majesty of Moranis, and give thanks for all his films. That was about seven or eight years ago now, and we're still doing it.

Yes, we probably do need some sort of a life.

Anyway, join us in celebrating all things Rick Moranis, by watching a Rick Moranis film tonight or somewhen this week, and pause and reflect on just how excellent Moranis is. Or, if you're on Facebook (and who isn't? Rick Moranis, probably. He's too cool for Facebook) then take a moment to partake in the Rick Moranis Rules! movie quiz which I created. Or just suffix your sentences with a simple 'eh' all day, to recreate the Moranis experience in your own home.

Come one, come all! Hail to the hoser! Moranis be praised! Happy Moranismas, everyone!

- Fanton.

There are still three days to go to enter our 'Lights, Camera, Blog!' contest, wherein we want to see you turn your blog into a blockbuster movie. Click here for details, and you could win some 'thing'. It might even be Rick Moranis-related, if you're lucky.

Lord Likely: The Movie!

2008-02-10T17:36:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true. They really are making a Lord Likely movie, starring Daniel Day-Lewis and his mighty, award-winning moustache as the titular aristocrat. No, really! It's true! All true! ALL OF IT.

Well, alright then. So it isn't. You got me. Happy now? Sheesh. A man can dream, can't he?

Anyway, while it's true to say that Hollywood has not come calling, showering me in millions of dollars and expensive narcotics, I have still made a Lord Likely movie of sorts. And by 'sorts' I mean 'a short video on YouTube featuring incredibly limited animation'.

I didn't really set out to make the video, I just found myself with a few hours to spare and a sudden, unexpected burst of creative energy, and so I went ahead and made a little promotional trailer to advertise Lord Likely's (awesome) blog, The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely (which I write, in case any of you are slow on the uptake).

Despite the piece only lasting for forty-seven seconds, the video took hours to make, thanks to my stupid antiquated old PC crashing on me half-way through, and losing me a whole afternoon's work. Needless to say, I swore. A lot. If only I had a computer that was anywhere near hi-spec, I'd probably be ruling the entire internet by now. YES I WOULD.

So, without further ado, here comes the motion picture event of the year, cobbled together using a knackered old computer and a freebie paint package I got off of a magazine once. Behold and witness film-making at its most exemplary!

Whew! Was it good for you, too?

And Now For A Competition.

Actually, now that I've made that lovely poster up above, I've decided to start the very first Digital Sickbag competition, which I've cleverly entitled:

Lights, Camera, Blog!

To partake in this FABULOUS contest, all you need to do is to knock up a poster re-imagining your very own blog as a big-budget Hollywood movie, like the Lord Likely one up the top there. Who would you cast in the lead role of you? What would the tag-line be? What rating?
Go crazy, it's your fantasy after all.

Once you've put together a lovely film poster of Your Blog: The Movie, then post it on your own blog and leave a link in the comments section here, so I can go and have a look. Simple! Or you can email your finished masterpiece to andy fanton at google mail dot com and I'll have a look at it and laugh and laugh and laugh before consigning it to the recycle bin of doom. Maybe.

Don't worry about creating something incredibly polished and slick. You can throw together some random images in your paint package of choice, or doodle something on a napkin. It's up to YOU. All I'm looking for is something creative and funny. Naked breasts are an option worth considering, however.

The winner will receive either 200 Entrecard Credits, (if they are an Entrecard member, of course), or some other prize if they aren't. It'll probably be amazing. Amazingly cheap, that is.

PLUS! All participants will get a permanent link from this very blog which you are reading right now, with the winner also garnering a permanent link on the sidebars both here AND at lordlikely.co.uk (which receive thousands of visitors a week, and currently has a Google Page Rank of 4, for those who like to know these thing).

The closing date is, ooh, let's say the 20th February. I just picked that date completely at random, you know.

Man, that sounds like an awesome contest, if you ask me. You'd better get going.

HAVE FUN, and I'll see you AT THE MOVIES!

(I cannot believe I just said that).

- Fanton.

PS: If anyone wishes to send me a brand-new, completely excellent PC, I should like to let you know that I am not too proud to accept such a generous gift. Just so you know.

Putting the Poo in Spoof

2008-02-03T17:10:00.000-08:00

Rumack: Captain, how soon can you land?
Captain Oveur: I can't tell.
Rumack: You can tell me. I'm a doctor.
Captain Oveur: No. I mean I'm just not sure.
Rumack: Well, can't you take a guess?
Captain Oveur: Well, not for another two hours.
Rumack: You can't take a guess for another two hours?

- Airplane!, 1980.

I love Airplane!, one of the most perfect spoof movies ever made. A ridiculously funny parody of the Seventies' disaster movies, ruthlessly subverting every cliché and convention of the genre, the movie pretty much laid down the template for the spoof genre and transformed Leslie Nielsen from gravel-toned straight man to comedy superstar.

I have a slight obsession with spoof movies, especially the output of the 'ZAZ' team, (writer/directors Jerry and David Zucker, and Jim Abrahms). I think Police Squad! is one of the best TV comedies ever made; six perfectly crafted episodes prodding and poking the TV detective genre with brilliant skill. The Naked Gun films always cause me to laugh right out loud ("Bingo!") and I firmly believe that Top Secret! is an often overlooked classic.

Somewhere along the line, however, the spoof movie took an awful misstep, leading to the creation of the horrid little stepchild of the genre that clutters up cinema screens across the globe today. Yeah, I'm looking directly at you, Epic Movie, Scary Movie, Fucking-Piece-Of-Shit Movie.

Sadly, I think the ZAZ team are largely to blame. It all started with Hotshots, the satire of Top Gun helmed by ZAZ alumni Jim Abrahms. It's not an awful film by any means - Lloyd Bridges is particularly good in it - but it feels rather like an extended comedy skit, more than a fully-formed film in its own right. This is largely due to the decision to switch the target of the parody from a type of movie to one specific movie, a move that had the unfortunate effect of promoting a new mentality in Hollywood, where all that was needed to make a successful spoof film was to simply rewrite an already popular film, but add more fart jokes and tits. Voilà! - instant parody! Just add jokes.

This cookie-cutter, factory-style approach to parodies lead to a slew of wretched abominations being foisted upon the film-going public, guff like Repossessed, Wrongfully Accused and Spy Hard - all as funny as a knife to the balls; and all tragically starring Leslie Nielsen, who seems hell-bent on using up all of the goodwill earnt on earlier, classier parodies.

The latter of that trilogy of toss, Spy Hard, also threw up ('threw up' being the perfect term, here) writer/directors Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, the bastard progenitors of the spoof genre who, despite making such a stinker as Spy Hard, would somehow be allowed to continue their foul work with crap such as Scary Movies 1-4, Date Movie, Epic Movie and the upcoming laughter-voids that are Meet the Spartans and Superhero Movie. This must surely be all the proof needed to prove we live in a Godless world.

Crispin Glover: Turned down Back to the Future 2, but happily signed up to do Epic Movie. Twat.

Friedberg and Seltzer's idea of a parody is to recreate scenes from films that have been released in the past year or two (presumably because their idiot audience has difficulty in recollecting anything that happened before then) and then they simply throw in some vomit, maybe a nob gag or two and even some breakdancing. Thus these movies become nothing more than a tired exercise in spotting characters from movies doing things that the character would not normally do. Look, mummy! Captain Jack Sparrow is throwing up! Look! The Spartans are dancing! Look! Willy Wonka is body-popping! HILARIOUS!

The spoof movie genre no longer feels obliged to be troubled by such irksome trivialities as plot and character. Today's spoofs shun straight-faced acting for relentless gurning and mugging, and eschew well-crafted gags and jokes for piss and sick. They are loud, obnoxious and charmless, and firmly put the poo in spoof, filling a once ingenious genre with nothing but shit.

I am not just going to sit back and let the rot continue, though. I think I'll pitch my own rioutous spoof movie to Hollywood; a sure-fire winner guaranteed to have audiences rolling in the aisles and showering the producers with cash. It'll redefine the genre, and will spawn a new franchise that'll run and run and run, like a diarrhetic leopard.

It'll be called Spoof Movie, and will feature a man dressed up a bit like Indiana Jones slowly crapping into a pot for a whole hour and a half, to the soundtrack of Britney Spears' Toxic.

That's got to be better than Date Movie, anyway.

- Fanton.

Why swearing is both big and clever

2008-01-29T16:25:00.000-08:00

I fucking love swearing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those vile yobs who feel the need to curse and swear constantly in my day-to-day life, like a particularly foul-mouthed sailor; but when writing I find a good, well-placed swear really can bring a piece alive.

The reason I mention this is that Fiar, writer of the excellent humorblogging.com, recently sent me a link to an article on the Problogger blog, entitled 'Dropping the F-Bomb: Blogging With Naughty Words', which he thought I might find interesting. He was right.

The piece itself was a fairly even-handed (if rather patronising) treatment of the subject, but upon reading the comments section I soon found my blood beginning to boil, and it took all my will and self-control to prevent myself pounding my monitor to pieces with my bare fists, while screaming 'CUUUUUUUUNNNNNTTTTTTS' at the top of my voice.

The reason for my rather vitriolic reaction was the smug, sanctimonious tone struck by some of the holier-than-thou, self-appointed defenders of morality in response to the article. No cliché was left unused.

'Swearing shows that the writer has a limited vocabulary!' some screamed, in a staggering display of limited thought. How can having MORE words at your disposal be limiting your vocabulary, exactly? As a (sort of) writer, words are my tools. Every single one of them, dirty or not. I'd argue that those who exclude certain words from their lexicon are the ones displaying a limited vocabulary, by the very act of limiting their vocabulary. Surely?

'Using swear words is lazy!' others cried, lazily. 'It takes zero writing talent!' they bleated. I could not disagree more. When writing The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, my fiction blog chronicling the life of a Victorian aristocrat who drinks, swears and humps his way through various misadventures, I have to be quite creative when swearing. I update the blog three times a week on average, and trying to keep the swearing fresh and imaginative is quite a challenge, I can tell you. Thus I delight in twisting and turning the curses into new, unusual shapes; conjoining them like sweary Siamese twins, or turning rude adjectives into crude verbs. It takes quite a lot of work behind the scenes. I mean, do you know how difficult it is to come up with a fresh euphemism for masturbation on a weekly basis? I can't just bash it out in a few seconds, I have to pound away for a good, long while until I'm completely satisfied.

'Swearing drives readers and advertisers away!' the naysayers wailed. Well, advertisers can fuck off, frankly. I may have a few Google Ads on Lord Likely's site, but I'm not in this solely for the money. I'm not that appallingly shallow. If I was, I certainly wouldn't be writing a fiction blog about a drunk lord - I'd be writing about how to monetize your blog, or some such guff. No, I'm in it to write, to create and to (try) and entertain. And if the way I write does turn some readers away, then to be honest they won't be missed. My writing just isn't for them, and I do not propose I start pandering to them.

Incredibly, one commenter even went as far as to claim that 'it [swearing] just shouldn’t be in literature of any type'. After reading that, I picked myself up off the floor and dashed outside, to check that there weren't masses of fascist policeman patrolling the streets. There weren't. It seems I do still live in a free country after all. Thank fuck for that.

I personally swear for many reasons. Swear words are incredibly useful words to use to demonstrate extreme shock or anger. If I write a piece about someone being punched in the face by a twenty-stone gangster, the exclamation, 'Crikey!', whilst being all lovely, fluffly and completely non-offensive, will not have the same impact as 'Fuck! What the fuck did you do that for, you asshole?' Indeed, the former would seem completely unsuitable and out of place. It's all about the context, and using the right tools for the job. Swear words exist for a reason, you know.

I confess that I do sometimes use swear words for the simple reason that I find them fucking funny. Especially the good old British swears, like 'wanker' or 'bollocks'. If the timing is right, you can make a good punchline ten times as funny by simply slipping in a 'twat', so to speak. I honestly believe that when deployed correctly, swearing adds a certain cadence and rhythm to your prose that somehow makes the whole thing seem much funnier.

Observe this clip of two of the Kings of Cuss, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, in the guise of their foul-mouthed alter-egos, Derek and Clive. There is no video on this clip - just a still of the duo - but listen to it. Listen to the supreme use of swearing. Listen to the rhythm, and the pace of it all. Listen to how they build upon the swearing, until it reaches a glorious, crude crescendo. It's a genius display of first-rate cussing.

As I said at the top of this page, I fucking love swearing. I respect that some people are offended by such language, and if that is the case, move on, pass it by. Just don't start telling me what I am or who you think I am by using such curses.

Because that'll just piss me right off.

- Fanton.

Agree, or fucking well disagree? Think swearing is shitting well brilliant, or do you think it is demonstrative of someone being a complete cock-end? Spew up your thoughts in the comments section, and bloody well say your piece.

James Bond in 'Try Another Title'

2008-01-24T09:33:00.000-08:00

News reaches the Sickbag that the twenty-second James Bond movie finally has a title - Quantum of Solace.

As far as tantalising, kick-ass titles go, it's a bit underwhelming, really. It sounds more like a student's science project, or a dull academic book rather than an all-action blockbuster about a super-cool spy.

Then again, Bond titles have a history of being a bit rubbish. For every snappily-titled Goldeneye or Licence to Kill, there's a Tomorrow Never Dies or The World is Not Enough.

So, to help out the Bond producers in naming any future Bond flicks, I've compiled a list of titles that they can use if they want. For ONE HUNDRED MILLION POUNDS EACH. Bargain!

Here we go:

The James Bond Film
Casino Royale 2: Casino Royaler
James Bond vs Aliens vs Predator
A Licence to Drive
The Man With The Golden Everything
The Periodic Table of Death
Tomorrow is the Day After Today
James Bond and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Secret Agent Punch Up
Mince Spy
James Bond Fights Everyone
Bronze-tits
The Bond Identity
The Man With A PhD In Advanced Physics
BOOOOM!
James Bond - He's A Super Cool Spy, Man!
Fighting and Spying And Fucking
Dodecahedron Eyes
James Bond Goes To Smuggler's Cove
James Bond!
Double Oh Ohhhhhhh
The Spy Who Will Fuck You Up
The Man With The Itchy Scrote
The Pluto Dichotomy
Big Fat Balls Slapping Against Her Arse
Something About Killing and Dying
I Can See Yooooou!
James Bond Loses His Keys

Christ, Not Another Fat Lunatic Trying To Take Over the World
A View To Retirement
Licence To Print Money
Never Kill A Doctor With A Licence To Live Another Golden Day Twice
James Bond Kicks A Bloke
Shaken, But Not Shaken Too Much
Things Explode
James Bond's Super Spying Adventure Time
PACHOW! ZAP! BLAMMO!
Look At My Shorts
James Bond meets James Bond, James Bond, James Bond, James Bond and James Bond.
Knock Knock, Who's There?
February the 23rd Always Comes
There's This Bit, Yeah, Where James Bond Leaps From A Helicopter And Lands In A Tank And Punches This Guy In The Face And Drives Off And Flattens A Limousine It's Fuckin' Well Rad
Licence To Serve Liquor
Never Say Not Never Never Again Never
Liquid Pants
The Man With The Lady's Face
Donkey Puncher
Is That A Gun In Your Pocket Or Your Hardened Cock?
James Bond Wins At The End

I'm sure you'll agree, they're all BRILLIANT ideas. Hollywood, here I come!

- Fanton.

The Hack and the Slasher

2008-01-21T17:03:00.000-08:00

Thomas Peckett Prest must be kicking himself, or at least he would be if he wasn't completely dead, and buried six-foot underground.

Prest is widely considered to be the creator of Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, a character currently enjoying a blood-soaked revival on the big screen in Tim Burton's gloriously gothic musical-slasher movie of the same name. If only Prest had the immense foresight to predict the popularity of his gruesome creation, then he could have wound up being a very well-off corpse indeed.

Johnny Depp found shaving the Invisible Man very difficult work.

However, Prest was a hack writer, a quill-for-hire who spent most of his life penning comic parodies of Charles Dickens' oeuvre (including such ingeniously-titled classics as Oliver Twiss and David Copperful), and pulpy, schlocky stories of thrill and suspense for the popular penny dreadful publications. These were cheap, lurid periodicals published in Victorian Britain to occupy an increasingly literate working class with undemanding and unsophisticated entertainment. Sort of like the TV networks do in our modern, enlightened times.

Literary infamy was doubtlessly the last thing on Prest's mind, as he was far too busy churning out cheap tat for the penny dreadfuls. Indeed, his lasting creation, Sweeney Todd, first appeared as a mere secondary, supporting character in the completely non-terrifyingly titled story The String of Pearls: A Romance, a sure indication as any that Prest had no idea that he was sitting on a potential goldmine.

When Sweeney Todd went on to prove far more popular than a poxy string of pearls, the character soon found himself taking centre-stage in a theatrical adaptation by George Dibden Pitt in 1846, to great success. It must have been a bitter pill for Prest, as the unattributed author of the original tale, living in less copyright-savvy times - he made approximately zero pounds and noughty-nought pence from this popular stage adaptation of his own work.

By failing to even sign his own work, Prest went on to miss out on further healthy royalty cheques from a multitude of stage and film adaptations over the next one hundred and sixty-odd years, culminating in both the prolific Stephen Sondheim stage musical, and the current Tim Burton movie, itself based on the Sondheim musical. Which, in turn, was based on Christopher Bond's stage play, The String of Pearls. Which, of course, was based on Prest's original, cheap and un-cheerful serial.

Can you hear that sound? It's the sound of money slipping through Prest's skeletal fingers.

The moral of this story is clear. Firstly make sure you get credit for your work, and make sure you copyright it to the hilt. Secondly, don't sideline your best characters in a stupid story about a sailor and a necklace.

And now finally, for those interested in my incredibly important opinions: Burton's Sweeney Todd is a fantastic triumph; a supremely entertaining slice of musical macabre which succeeds on every level and completely fulfills my expectations for a Burton-directed horror musical. The cast are uniformly fantastic, with Johnny Depp turning in another great performance and proving to be more than adept at singing in a mock-Cockney style, resulting in him sounding something like David Bowie, which of course is no bad thing.

In short, Sweeney Todd has made the transition from penny dreadful, to million-dollar wonderful. I loved it.

I think Prest might have liked it too.

- Fanton.

Read The String of Pearls in its entirety, courtesy of the Victorian Dictionary.

And don't forget to read The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, another completely excellent Victorian tale destined to become a classic for centuries to come.

Bookmark This Poem.

2008-01-14T19:19:00.000-08:00

Next month, my daft little humourous blog The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely will be one year old, a landmark I never expected to reach.

It's not because I don't think the Astonishing Adventures are any good (they're REALLY bloody good, trust me), it's just that prior to this, the longest I had managed to keep a blog running was approximately five minutes. I had dipped my toe into the blogging pool on three or four previous occasions, but then I'd quickly get bored or accidentally find myself whiling away the hours looking at pictures of Billie Piper in her underwear, or something.

Now I find myself fully submerged in that very same pool, practically drowning in blogs. It's like I'm trapped in the net, like a digital dolphin.

It's not the blogging itself that concerns me. I love writing, and would happily write all day long if only someone could shovel food in my mouth at regular intervals, and pump coffee through my veins.

The thing that perturbs me is how much work goes into getting your blog seen by other pairs of eyes, especially when you work in the niche field of writing a blog about a Victorian Lord who likes to have sex a lot, like I do. After hitting 'PUBLISH POST' on my latest masterpiece, I am then faced with a bewildering array of options for whoring my latest creation. A bewildering array of options which have lead me to write this little verse, which I like to call:

Bookmark This Poem.

I can Digg it, Sphinn it, Fuel it and Furl it,

I can Zoom it, Fire it, Blink it and Spurl it.

I can Technorati this, and Stumble Upon that,

I can Riff on anything, I Reddit on a Mac,

I can join BlogCatalog, BlogLog or Blogging Fusion,

Bloggeries or BlogFlux - now it's a Blog Explosion!

I can send it to Simpy, Squidoo, Slashdot or Spotback,

I can put it on my MySpace, or shove it on your Facebook.

I can make it deli.cio.us, but by then I'd be de.lirio.us.

I can give it to Google - Hi5, Yahoo!

I could Twitter all day long

but I've got blogging to do.

Fin.

Well, I'd better go. This post won't promote itself, you know.

- Fanton.

PS: Don't forget to actually bookmark this. No, really.

Flash Men and Likely Lords

2008-01-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

Last week, British literature lost one of its very finest comic writers, when the author George MacDonald Fraser passed away at the ripe old age of eighty-two.

For those unfamiliar with the writer in question, Fraser was a writer and journalist, who found considerable fame and fortune with the publication of his Flashman novels.

In these brilliantly funny books, Fraser took the simple conceit of plucking the unlikeable character of Harry Flashman from Thomas Hughes' Victorian novel, Tom Brown's Schooldays, and then developing a whole new series of adventures for the bullying rascal, chronicling his life after being expelled from Rugby school on account of his drunkenness.

In the first of the series, we catch up with Flashman as he becomes a soldier caught up in the midst of the British retreat from Kabul in the first Afghanistan war (1839-42). Despite the horrors taking place around him, Flashman still delights in drinking and sex, whilst trying to save his neck during the conflict by any cowardly means possible.

The book deftly combined painstakingly researched historical fact with high farce and bawdy comedy, a mixture that proved to be extremely alluring to the public. After the success of his solo debut, Flashman went on to get embroiled in Custer's Last Stand, the Indian Mutiny, and the Charge of the Light Brigade, amongst other notable events over the course of the series, which spanned twelve books in total.

I only started reading the astonishing tales of the Victorian rogue and bounder last summer, which may surprise readers of my other blog, The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, in which I chronicle the astonishing tales of another Victorian rogue and bounder.

It was through Lord Likely that I discovered Flashman, (as opposed to the other way around), when I was directed to the Flashman books by fellow blogger Scaryduck, who suggested the two characters might be related. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, so set about getting hold of a copy to see for myself.

Upon picking up the first novel in the series, my heart sank. Not because it was awful, or depressing - it was truly excellent - but because it seemed everything I was trying to do with Likely had already been done - and much better - by Fraser. The cover alone (above) seemed to capture the very essence of Lord Likely better than I could have ever managed.

Upon reading the novel, however, I realised that there were differences. The first obvious one was that Flashman was a regular guy, whilst Lord Likely is, well, a lord. Secondly, Flashman was a terrible coward and reluctant hero, while Likely is much more proactive, seeking out adventure and intrigue to alleviate the boredom bought about by the tedious routine of his aristocratic duties. Finally, Flashman is much more of a solitary character (save his wife, Elspeth), while Likely rarely travels anywhere without his long-suffering man-servant, Botter.

Of course, Fraser's work was much more rigourously researched, while the Astonishing Adventures favour crudity, farce and slapstick over historical accuracy. And I need not point out that Fraser's writing is much better than mine, but then again Likely's cock is undoubtedly bigger than Flashman's.

I was relieved to discover these differences. I hadn't set out to ape the exploits of Harry Flashman, nor rip-off George MacDonald Fraser. If anything, I'd set out to pay homage and parody Sherlock Holmes and Charles Dickens. As well as making dozens of penis jokes.

Happily, there is room enough for both takes on the Victorian hero in this world, and in fact reading Flashman has encouraged me to up my game and try harder. Why, I even did some actual research for Lord Likely's American Adventure! I used books and everything. Whatever next?

So I continue the adventures of Lord Likely unabated and more inspired. In fact, in the very latest episode, I have even had his lordship meet Harry Flashman, as a small tribute from one humble blogger, to a master of comic writing who paved the way for whippersnappers like me to stomp noisily all over it, treading mud all over the beautifully paved metaphorical path.

Mr. Fraser, sir, I raise a glass of brandy to you. Cheers!

- Fanton.

2008: A Space Oddity

2008-01-06T16:52:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolutions never sit well with me, as I usually either forget that I've made them, or fail to adhere to them (he says, puffing away on a cigarette).

However, there is one resolution I would really like to keep, and that is to get this made into something:

Ever since my first attempt at developing an animated series - The Carrotty Kid - slipped into development hell, and then development limbo, I've been eager to try and turn my hand to a fresh, new project. I'd preferably like to work alongside the excellent and ridiculously talented Michael Whaite, with whom I had the moist pleasure of working with on The Carrotty Kid's pilot episode, and who also knocked up the nifty poster you see above. Good isn't, he?

Hence Jet Pets, the story of a group of animal test-subjects blasted into space as part of a scientific experiment. However, the test goes distinctly awry when the pets' craft slips into a black hole, spewing the hapless crew out half-way across the universe. Can the Jet Pets find their way home again, or are they doomed to be lost in space FOREVER?

Whether this time around I'll be more successful in getting something made, or whether I'll once again crash and burn like a drunkard left in charge of a zeppelin, I do not know. But you've got to try, haven't you?

Haven't you?

- Fanton.

The Digital Sickbag Virtual Gig-O-Matic

2007-12-11T05:55:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday my sister, her husband and I went along to a Manic Street Preachers gig at the BIC (which is short for Bournemouth International Centre, and does not mean we went along to watch the band play in a giant biro).

Good times were had by all - good times that YOU can recreate in your very home RIGHT NOW thanks to the Digital Sickbag Virtual Gig-O-Matic, bought to you using the very latest in sophisticated computer technology.

To begin this simulation, make sure you are dressed in something with a leopard-print design, or failing that just wear a lot of black, and maybe some eyeliner.

Now, turn off all the lights in your house. If its daytime, then draw your curtains, or just squint at the screen.

Ready? Good. Here comes...the support act, Cherry Ghost:

At this point, you should begin to get restless, because you didn't really want to see these guys. Start talking loudly, or go to the shops and buy yourself some beer. Remember to pay two or three times the price for your booze, to fully capture the gigging experience.

Right, you're back, and just in time, too. Here they are...the MANIC STREET PREACHERS! (Start cheering and whooping like a madman).

The band are opening with one of their older songs, from their first album. Show how hardcore a fan you are by mouthing along to all the lyrics!

You Love Us

Cheer, whoop and applause. And so to the next track - another oldie! Scream at the top of your lungs, people!

Motown Junk

Time for a quick toilet break now. Go and stand outside your toilet for a full twenty minutes before going in. To further add to the atmosphere, you may wish to piss all over the floor, and maybe try and have a crafty cigarette while your there.

Okay, now the band are playing That Song, the one that made them famous. As a hardened fan you should roll your eyes at this point, and maybe shake your head sadly to demonstrate your displeasure.

As the song is popular, the room erupts and people are dancing like crazy. To recreate this experience, jab yourself in the ribs repeatedly with your elbow, and spill some beer down your front.

Design For Life

At this juncture, you might like to start yelling out obtuse comments at your monitor. Stuff like 'WE LOVE YOU NICKY!', or 'SHOW US YOUR LEGS' or something. Alternatively, holler out requests for obscure B-sides and long-forgotten tracks, to further demonstrate your hardcore credentials. Then sigh when the band fails to adhere to your demands, and instead play another chart-topping hit.

Nonetheless, you still love the band, so start jumping up and down, and hurling yourself about like you have been possessed by a spirit. The SPIRIT of ROCK.

Masses Against the Classes

Applaud loudly. At this point, you may like to pretend that the band have said goodnight and walked off stage. Start shouting 'MANICS, MANICS, MANICS!' loudly at the screen. Lo and behold - they're coming back on for one more song! Hooray! Cheer and whistle happily, then erupt into almost orgiastic delight when they start playing one of their older tracks- JUST FOR YOU.

Motorcycle Emptiness

And that's it. It's over. You should be all sweaty and tired now, but happy. Go and stand outside your toilet again for anther twenty minutes, then go outside. Recreate the experience of being harassed by a shifty-looking vendor, selling knock-off band t-shirts, by throwing a twenty pound note down a drain.

Phew! Quite a night, eh? Don't forget to round things off nicely by being sick in your bed. Good times, good times.

SIMULATION ENDS.

For further Manic Street Preacher fun, visit their official website, and download their Christmas song, Ghost of Christmas. It's brilliant, a shamelessly glam-rock inspired Xmas stomper with hints of Slade and Wizzard at their most festive. A far more palatable Christmas offering than you'll find in the charts this year, and better still its FREE.

Thank you. You've been a wonderful audience.

GOODNIGHT!

- Fanton.

The Dork Knight

2007-12-05T06:53:00.000-08:00

Surely I should be past getting ridiculously excited by the prospect of seeing a movie about a man dressing up like a giant bat and flapping across a city, fighting gaily-coloured hoodlums?

Surely, as I near thirty years old, my inner child should have grown up, shined his shoes, got a job and settled down?

But no. My inner child resolutely refuses to mature, and continues to bounce around with undiminished glee whenever a new superhero movie is on the horizon, an act which plays havoc with my kidneys, let me tell you.

And so, I brace myself for another internal jamboree as the first official poster is unleashed for next year's The Dark Knight, the sequel to 2005's rather excellent Batman Begins. This time around, the vermin-inspired vigilante (Christian Bale) does battle with his most notorious nemesis, The Joker, played by Heath Ledger.

I really enjoyed Batman Begins, which did an excellent job of salvaging the franchise after Joel Schumacher tried to torpedo it to gaudy smithereens with the neon-clad campfest that was Batman and Robin. From what we've been allowed to see of Begins' follow up, it seems director Christopher Nolan and his team are determined to keep the quality high, with the Joker looking especially excellent, and suitably psychotic. With the unveiling of the first poster for the film, my excitement levels have reached a ludicrous and almost embarrassing high, proving that I still have some way to go before I can be classed as an adult in any way, shape or form.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. My inner child wants ice cream.

- Fanton.

What's in a name?

2007-12-03T16:27:00.000-08:00

Naming a new blog is almost as important a decision as naming your newborn child. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's far more important than that.

Sure, you could wind up bestowing a stupid name like 'Zowie' or 'Moon Unit' or 'Gregory' upon your child, but then chances are that whatever you call your offspring they'll eventually wind up despising their name, and start developing new, far cooler sounding nicknames like 'D-Stroy' or 'Jazza' or 'XBox 360' anyway. It's all pretty irrelevant, really.

Your blog, however, cannot change its own name. Whatever you choose is what it is lumbered with for the rest of its life - which could well be FOREVER.

It is with this weighty consideration upon my mind that I set about naming this very blog. I wanted to give my new baby a snappy name, something vaguely cool-sounding. Something that wouldn't get it picked on by the bigger blogs in the virtual schoolyard.

But what? I did not have one single idea in my entire brain. It's a tricky process, but luckily there are a few clear options open to you when you are naming a blog, which I've carefully researched and present to you now:

The self-titled blog. Simply name your blog after yourself! Not only does it require zero creativity, but it also means that you don't have to try and remember a whole new name. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

However, the self-titled blog does carry with it a certain air of arrogance, as if the writer considers him or herself so important and famous that people should either already know their name, or learn it fast. This is fine if you are actually important and/or famous, but makes you look like a right cocky bastard if you aren't.

It should be noted that I used to own a self-titled blog.

The Writing-Based Pun: Blogs are all about writing, so why not make your blog's title an awfully witty pun based upon that very fact? Write In it! Write On! Write Now! Write Where I Belong! Write Now I Am Stabbing Myself In The Eye With A Fork To Spare Me The Agony Of Your Awful Punnery!

It should be noted that I used to own a writing-based pun blog.

The Cock Tease: If you want to get a ridiculously high volume of traffic to your blog, then titling it something vaguely dirty and provocative like Dirty Tramp or Wild Ejaculations or Fuck My Tits will guarantee you a continued torrent of sweaty-palmed surfers who googled 'minge' and who then accidentally found themselves on your page. They won't stay long (unless there are actually tits on your site) but your stats will certainly look impressive. You whore.

Self-Deprecation: We all know that by publishing our thoughts and opinions openly on the Internet we are leaving ourselves open to abuse, so why not get the first blow in right away - on yourself! By naming your blog in such a self-mocking manner it looks like you already think you are rubbish, and are thus immune from any further barbs or critiques.

However, although titles like Wittering On, Boring Guff, Dreary Nothings, Turgid Nonsense and Pile of Shit may make you think you are being all witty and self-deprecating, people might actually take the title literally and leave without reading past that header. Either that, or you call your blog Useless Toss and it actually turns out to be a bunch of useless toss. Or, worst still, your enemies and detractors may feel like they have to try harder to rile you, and go beyond spamming your comments section and straight onto kidnapping you and setting fire to your loved one's hair. Use with caution.

The Surrealistic Juxtaposition: If you want to make yourself look a bit wacky and (shudder) zany, then this could be the choice for you. All you need to do is combine two disparate words or items to get your new, ker-azy blog name. Things like: Anaemic Hippo, Revolving Hatstand, Nuclear Bungalow, Retarded Sparrow, Smoking Omelette, Vibrating Pope, Smarmy Trilby etc.

WARNING: if carried out poorly, the surrealistic juxtaposition can wind up making you look like a really unfunny prick, who probably spends all day quoting Family Guy or Monty Python.

So, I present to you now: Digital Sickbag.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!
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- Andy Fanton.