What Time Do You Call This, Sonny?

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.

I've Got Something Big and Hard in my Hands

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.

Why swearing is both big and clever

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.

Bookmark This Poem.

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

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.

What's in a name?

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.