TIHSPITFOAL: Berlin Edition!

Last year, I went to France. This year, I didn't. I went to Berlin though so you're not spared the "joy" of seeing some holiday snaps just yet!

Ah, I'm kidding. Feel free to do something more interesting like cutting your nails or doing your taxes. Or don't. Whatever.

Still here? Great! Then come along for a look at the ever-so-slightly disturbing world of Germany where I saw...



A MAN WELCOMING VISITORS INTO HIS CROTCH

A DESPERATE LONELY MACHINE

A RECENTLY FIRED MEMBER OF 'THE BLUE MAN GROUP'

AN UNSURPRISING NAME GIVEN THE NATIONALITY

A CHOCOLATE BEAR WHO HAS SEEN TOO MUCH

THE SHOWER OF SHAME

A ROOM WHERE THEY PRESUMABLY ALL SOUND LIKE STEPHEN MERCHANT

A BISON WITH A CRAFTY DISGUISE

PROOF THE ZOO HAVE BEEN DOING GENETIC EXPERIMENTS

JACKIE ONASSIS IN SHOE FORM, AND...

CREEPY SEXY CHOCOLATE. Oh dear lord.

And the award for the Second Paradox I've Found This Month goes to...

Surely if it cleans itself, we shouldn't have to do the work.

Unless it's not a self-cleaning area in which case why put up the sign?

Look, either we have to put rubbish in the bins or the area does it for you. Which is it? Do I dispose of this crisp wrapper myself? Will some sort of robot butler do it for me?  Am I really overestimating what technology is available yet?

Which is possible. I did once expect my phone's predictive text to recognise the word 'hooray'...

Jock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels

I received a text recently that said the following: Never trust a Scot.

Intriguing.

I should immediately hasten to explain that this missive didn't come completely out of the blue and in fact was a reply to a previous message. I don't tend to make a habit of receiving random vaguely-threatening bits of advice.

Anyway, this seemingly simple sentence has caused me no end of grief. Let me explain my problem with it. If a Scot tells you never to trust a Scot, then we potentially have a paradox.

If you follow his advice and do not trust it, then you have, inexplicably, trusted it.

If you do not follow his advice, it suggests you do not trust it, which means you have, once again, taken it to heart.

The only solution to this riddle then is to listen to no one ever again.

Then again, that advice once more brings us to a paradox...

If I say 'do not listen to anyone' then how can you follow this instruction without first hearing it from me?

If you decide I am the final person you will listen to before ignoring future speakers, then why take my word as superior to others?

If you take my statement to be inherently cynical, why not dismiss me too?

If - ah, all this thinking is giving me a headache. These paradoxes are more confusing than a mime in a house of mirrors. I'm afraid the juries still out on Scots, folks. If one approaches you - I don't know - just give them the advice and run away whilst they ponder it. That's what did I did. I haven't seen my phone since...

Fifty Shades of Great

Yellow is mellow,
Blue is, well, blue.
Green's an eco freak
so he's just like you.

Black's very dark,
Red's always mad,
White is so bright -
takes after his dad.

Orange is a fruit,
Pink's a bit gay.
Don't mind that at all -
they're my friends, okay?

I like all colours,
see each as a mate.
Every one's diff'rent
That what makes them great.

Getting Shirty

A t-shirt intrigued me the other day (you certainly can't accuse this blog of containing unscintillating sentences...). Anyway, this exciting garment bore the following message:





Wow. Whoever owns this must have guaranteed their place in the Parthenon of greats! Who knew that getting god-like status was so easy? I thought you had to do heroic deeds, fight monsters, or save millions (of lives, that is - I'm not suggesting you become the stuff of myths through being extremely thrifty) but no, apparently all it takes is purchasing a shirt for £8.49!

Affordable ways of buying status aside, the slogan appears to imply that there is a key difference between the wearer and their legacy which is quite disappointing especially if, as the direction of the arrow implies, said reputation is that they're a dick. Maybe their genitals are going to be celebrated in song for years to come? Who knows? I'm definitely not canny enough to work it out. If only I was a legend.

Radio (not so) Gaga.

This week, a journalist listened to a single programme of a Radio 4 sitcom she ended up disliking and wrote off, on the basis of this one half hour, not just the episode or the show, but the whole of audio comedy. Based on that logic, I should, because I hated her article, give up words.

I've not though. Obviously.

What I will give up on however is reading pieces with outrageous intentionally attention-seeking headlines that are clearly designed to provoke people into reading their contentious views, retweet them endlessly, and blog about why they're wrong whilst again linking people to the original arti-

Oh.

Well, I've failed there. Perhaps I should give up words...

Let the Cry Fall... (AKA an intro to - what would have been - Episode Seven of 'The Film Show'.)

In a previous post, I imagined what would have happened in a further episode of my podcast, The Film Show, had I brought the old team back together again for one last glorious mission show.

On 13th November 2012, I no longer had to imagine.

In early 2013, I still no longer had to imagine, but was left without any evidence of said reunion because, just days before I received a belated Christmas present of an external hard drive, my computer crashed. Sod's law/That's always the way/etc etc.

Episode 7 was a beauty and words cannot express how I feel about its loss - well, there are certain words I could use, but they're not exactly suitable for what usually is a blog that warrants, at most, a 12A certificate and a cautious parent reading over your shoulder. Heck, even my attempt at erotica would only be deemed to have "mild sexual references".

I digress.

If there's anything that can be learnt from this, it's that history repeats itself. The opening ten minutes of Episode One were lost due to technical difficulties, the whole first half of Episode 6 was lost due to technical difficulties, and now the whole of Episode 7 has been lost to technical difficulties. Goodness knows what would happen if we ever attempted an Episode 8 - perhaps we would end up erased from existence.

Regardless, luckily I, unlike my repaired laptop, have my memory intact so can recall some of the highlights of Episode 007, our show on Skyfall, and our James Bond Special.

For all those unsure, yes, each of those are the same thing.

Anyway, the memories...


*James admits he tried out MI5's online test to determine whether he'd be a decent agent. He then jokes he doesn't trust himself with his own personal information

*Chris recalls watching a man describing his age via the phrase 'in Batmans, I'm 7'

*We count Blofelds

*James says he watched the whole of Skyfall looking out for Albert Finney. When the cast list comes up at the end, he realises that Albert Finney, funnily enough, was the one that looked like Albert Finney

*With the panelists currently drawing at Taglines 3-3, it's all to play for in this deciding game. James sweeps the board and is rewarded with an ultra-special once-in-a-lifetime(so-it'll-be-a-pity-that-it's-lost) prize - he'll get to read the final credits in the style of an Oscar acceptance speech

*Following the (then)recent acquisition of Lucasfilms by Disney, we debate which other franchises should be snapped up. The gist is nobody should touch Ghostbusters (if someone did, who would you call?)

*It comes as a surprise to no one that Skyfall is top of the box office that week. Well, it's never a surprise to me - I write the flipping show

*James serenades us with a near-unrecognisable rendition of Ode to Joy during our segment on Die Hard 5 thus ensuring we don't have to pay royalties

*James criticises the credits whilst he's reading them. The final people thanked are Bruce Willis ("because he's awesome") and, of course, "your mom" (which James misinterprets as an immature 'yo mamma'-type comment)


And that's it. The recording ran for well over an hour and a half. Editing would have reduced it to a manageable hour. Unfortunately, the laptop seemed to think its runtime should be zero minutes and no seconds. Brilliant.

Still, it's not all bad. If I thought the Episode 7 reunion was amazing, imagine how good an Episode 8 could be...