Posts Tagged ‘Donkey cock’

Rome

June 25, 2007

Rome 

Thank fuck for that – Rome‘s back. This episode kicked off straight after the events of the final episode of the first series and, for the uninitiated, here’s the lowdown on the runners ‘n’ riders:

Lucius Vorenus – Local politician. Tried hard to be the family man, found out his wife had been carrying on with her sister’s brother, tried killing her with a big knife, she jumped out of the window and died.
Titus Pullo – Big violent bastard. Killed loads of people last time around, ended up as a gladiator, killed more people, fucked loads of women, killed more people, fell in love with a slave-girl, found out she was carrying on with someone else, killed him.
Julius Caesar – General/Dictator. Subjugated the Gauls, had Vercingetorix strangled in the Forum, got up to political shenanigans, had epilepsy and worried about baldness, fucked shrivelled-up hag Servilla, pissed her off, got murdered by her son and his mates.
Mark Anthony – Caesar’s mate. Fucked (well … raped) anything that moved, killed people, machinated, fucked Caesar’s neice Atia, smirked a lot, shagged random peasant girl against tree in front of whole waiting Roman army.
Atia – Tits-out MILF sex bitch. Plotted to gain favour for her son Octavian, offered up her daughter to become sex play-thing of Pompey, became sex play-thing herself of Mark Anthony, was given gift of black man with enormous penis, enjoyed penises in general, a sex version of Nadia Sawahla.
Servilla – Lesboid shitbag uber-bag hag. Fucked Caesar, fucked Atia’s daughter, got shunned by Caesar, plotted against Caesar, convinced her son Brutus to kill Caesar, dabbled in Roman equivalent of voodoo, not even a GILF.
Octavian – Caesar’s nephew and Man Who Would Be King. Struck up unlikely friendship with Titus Pullo, helped Titus murder Vorenus’s wife’s sister’s ‘usband, shagged his first woman in a brothel on the insistance of his mother (MILF extraordinaire Atia), witnessed Caesar having a fit.
Octavia – Atia’s crappy daughter. Told to become plaything of Pompey, became lesboid plaything of hag un-GILF Servilla, not at all ‘sporty’ considering what her mother gets up to between the sheets.

So there you go. This episode showed the aftermath of Caesar’s and Vorenus’s wife’s deaths. All manner of stuff happened. In one scene Anthony, randy as a bull, woke to find Atia changing into her funeral garb for Caesar’s funeral and demanded a fuck out of her. Atia told him to behave himself, so:

“I’m not getting out of this bed until I’ve had a fuck,” replies Anthony, grabbing his balls.
“Oh for …” says Atia. She turns to one of her servants and says, “Go and fetch that German slut from the kitchens.”

Later we see said German slut, starkers and breathing heavily, as Anthony dresses for the funeral with a big smirk on his face. I don’t think the German girl had a choice in the matter. But then, on Anthony’s previous form, most women don’t seem to get a choice in the matter (and women think they ‘ave it hard nowadays).

Meanwhile Vorenus, who has cursed his kids for not telling him about his wife carrying on with her sister’s brother, discovers they’ve been taken prisoner by a local money-lender. With Titus (who’s now married to the aforementioned slave-girl whose t’other half he beat to death in series one) in tow, he tracks the money-lender down, kills every man, woman, and child in the money-lender’s tavern, then corners the money-lender.

“Where’s my fucking kids?” he roars (or words to that effect), covered from head-to-toe in blood.
“I took them in payment for your many slights against me,” replies the money-lender, “I fucked ’em, killed ’em, and threw their bodies in the river.”

At which point Vorenus, failing to see the funny side, cuts off the money-lender’s head.

Loads of other stuff happened during the course of the show involving politics, funerals, the validity of Caesar’s will, Roman stuff and what-have-you. I imagine the gratuitous tit-shot/brutal violence ratio will be ramped-up as the weeks roll on (it did last time, so fingers crossed). I fucking love this programme. Rome … seig heil!

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The Apprentice, Series 3, Episode 11

June 7, 2007

Back off 

Tonight we learned that the humble CV can act as a window to a lorry-load of bullshit. In the penultimate episode of this series, we joined three of Alan Sugar’s most trusted business advisers. They were so important that I’ve forgotten their names. One was a sleazy slimeball with unkempt hair and a clear inferiority complex about his lack of a degree, one looked just like a permanently unimpressed Mark Heap and the other, a troubleshooter, was bald, firm and fair. The unenviable task of trawling through the resumes of the remaining five contestants fell to this funny-lookin’ crew.

During the recap we were reminded just how badly Tre had performed in the last task. In fact, it served to remind us that it’s a miracle Tre had got this far. How did he manage it? It certainly wasn’t charm, and his sense of humour isn’t the most apparent attribute he carries. The only answer can be ‘good TV’. He swore a lot and was sexist and we found it all terribly amusing. Quite sad when you think about it.
But there he was, in the last five with Katie, Simon, Lohit and Kristina.

Before the interviews took place, in the ‘half an hour’ in which they were getting ready (no idea why they pursue this idea of them hurrying to get ready when they’ve clearly got all morning to do so), we saw them discussing the research they’d done. Simon, an Amstrad owner since he was five, ruminated on the finer points of the games he had on one of Sugar’s systems (Jet Set Willy is, indeed, a classic) whilst Tre wandered around the house, stony-faced because he had done bugger all in the way of investigation. Digging around in Simon’s knowledge and getting nothing from him, Tre demonstrated that he really wasn’t going to get anywhere this time. ‘Wanker’, he called Simon, realising the game was up. ‘No, you’re the wanker’, replied Simon, wittily.

Simon, yet again, became a walking CV. ‘I like to think of myself as a freethinker’ he claimed. ‘If I’m meant to turn left, I’ll instinctively want to turn right’ he later claimed, making him sound like Princess Diana’s driver. His schoolboy charm was a winner though, and he knew it, talking nervously from under his brow. I noticed matching shirt and socks. Bizarrely, in any office this does mark a man as someone with coordination, which is odd, as aside from shirt and tie, it’s the only decision on colour a man in pinstripe would have to make. It’s not difficult.

On an unrelated note, I was shocked when I noticed Lohit’s full name for the first time. Lohit Kalburgi, it sounds like a Japanese car crossed with a dutch cheese.

In the interviews, it all came frothing to the top. All the crap that had been spoken was suddenly exposed, dredged and ultimately flushed away. What we learned was this. Tre is a bullshitter, Simon is a crap landlord and little else, Katie is a psychopath, Lohit is a little bit timid and Kristina is really, really bloody good. She really must win.

Tre was dissected, literally torn apart by the unkempt interviewer who wanted, not unfairly, to boil down the facts on Tre’s experience. In his own words, Tre was apparently an international business consultant with five job titles applicable to different roles. Under pressure, it was revealed that Tre worked in his father’s business, which somewhat undermined absolutely everything he’d ever bloody said all series. I’m sure, if my retired Dad were to set up a business selling lemonade from the front of his house he’d be happy to take me on board as a lemonade taster, and would be able to give me some vague and impressive-sounding job title like ‘FMCG Analyst’. Tre stuttered and ummed and aahed and could come back with nothing when asked if the five worldwide businesses he operated from were actually bedrooms. The interview became a post mortem, and Tre’s days were numbered. When asked, as a self-styled ‘computer-expert’ why he hadn’t done any research, even googled Sugar’s business, he blankly stared ahead and muttered weird little nothings.

Lohit, who appeared very little (both in terms of stature and screentime), was effectively told by the same interviewer that he was a nice guy, but not what was needed. Better to be honest, rather than waste someone’s time with a needless grilling I suppose. He didn’t manage to claim any points back with the other interviewers, and it all fell apart. Still, when he was eventually fired, he was given a nice send off. ‘You’re a good, fine fellow’, Sugar said, as he departed.

Katie scared the shit out of me. With the cold, hard stare of a genocidal maniac, she claimed that, out of ten, her CV displayed an eight on the ‘ruthlessness scale’. Considering she’d written (on her fucking CV) that she’d stolen a married man from his wife because she ‘wanted him’, I’d say she warrants a ten. What sort of mental freak would put that in a CV? And why, when it came to the boardroom, did they all say she had something special? Thankfully the Mark Heap lookalike chipped in with some negative comments but she was defended to the hilt by the sleazy sod, who clearly fancied her. Her interview with him was like the split beaver scene in Basic Instinct. He even looked a little bit like Newman out of Seinfeld.

Simon, having taken the mantle of comic contestant from Tre some time ago, teetered on the brink of triumph and disaster constantly, providing the show’s real entertainment. Without entering the room, his CV had already insulted the bald interviewer on age discrimination grounds. ‘I’ve achieved more than people double my age’ it asserted. ‘I’m more than double your age, and I’ve done more than you’, he countered, to silence and a little chuckle from the boy Ambrose. It came to light that Simon’s only real enterprise was as the landlord of a house. It was a piece of genius to bring out the testimonial of one of his tenants, who complained of television ariels being replaced by coat hangers and horrible blocked bogs. Again, Simon chuckled his endearing chuckle and took the flak, to his credit. Better to admit your failing than do a Tre and get bolshy (as such). On the positive side, he knew everything there was to know about Amstrad, thus fulfilling a very important criteria. If you know nothing about the company you’re looking to work for, it’s very unlikely you’ll fit in. Simon could identify areas where he’d excel, so he’s readymade for working there. Smart thinking.

But not as smart as Kristina. We’ve all known, since those sausages started sizzling in the week they went to France, that Kristina would be in the final. And she sailed through the interviews as though she were applying for a job in Tescos. No question rattled her, and the interviewers struggled to find fault.

The boardroom went weird. Tre and Lohit were easily disposed of. But then, against the wishes of every viewer and the basics of common sense, Katie was pronounced to be ‘in’. Despite the fact she was a body language car crash with the face of the Joker, she had wormed her way in, probably using some abrasive hypnosis. Which meant it was between Simon and Kristina. One had to go. Shocking, you would think, but then a twist. Sugar questioned Katie’s suitability for the role in terms of outside commitments. And she backed down. Whether it was Sugar’s lack of faith in her or her own priorities, she backed down and the final two were then decided. Very strange. I’m not sure what I make of the whole palaver, but I thoroughly bloody enjoyed it.

It’s between Kristina and Simon, and unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong for Kristina (ie, she chooses Katie and Tre to work with her), she should run away with it.

Paul Merton In China

May 23, 2007

Paul Merton In China 

Donkey cock. It was thinly sliced and looked like tongue, served in a ramekin with a small amount of sauce. Paul gingerly ate a slice, he didn’t mind it but retched at the next dish. Not sure what it was (I think they were silkworm grubs, or was it a snakes reproductive sack?) as I was still in remission from watching a man chop up a winkle.With his rather fetching assistant, I watched Paul Merton undertake an engaging visit to The People’s Republic of China in order to discover more about its culture, people, blah blah. The largely friendly residents are clearly in the iron fist of The Communist Party, to the point that the Chinese rappers, aping the brothers in the hood, are forced to enthusiastically rap about how nice Chinese food is (‘It’s kinda tricky gettin da taste… But throw in soy sauce, you’ve got no waste’) rather than crack, bitches and guns which makes them seem a little, well, shit. Still, its better to tow the party line than getting beaten with sticks for a year before being sent off to till the land until your fingers drop off.

The highlight of the show was this bloke that makes robots. Apparently this chap had no formal training in electronics and using components from other people’s rubbish built an array of stunning robots, including this huge silver object that, in addition to speaking, had the strength and coordination to pull a fucking rickshaw and a couple of people. He’d even made a smaller version for his son. It was truly astonishing, much to the amusement of Merton and yours truly, sat on a couch smoking skunk. The only person unamused by all of this was his bloody wife. Instead of acknowledging his genius she just wanted him to go to work like everyone else. The miserable old cunt.

There was one glaring snag in all of this – the bit when Merton went and visited a truly horrific hotel. Built in the style of a French Chateau, this sprawling 40 million pound pile of shit was the equivalent of the perpetually fake Colleen McLoughlin, minus what brains it possesses. Its owner, a despicable rich member of the Communist Party, turned up unannounced to introduce himself to Paul as if he were an ambassador for the British government – the creep. But this wasn’t the main problem, it was a ridiculously staged scene whereby Paul is ‘woken up’ by a load of guests doing Karaoke and is ‘forced’ to join in. Paul dressed in an underpant flashing dressing gown hams the whole fucking thing up to the detriment of his status as a genuine and likeable man.

On the whole Merton managed to present a view of China that was at once charming, worrying and interesting. He’s no seasoned traveller (like Palin for example) but isn’t afraid to look bemused and confused by the people and it’s politics. Shame then that he felt the need for that shit karaoke scene, which isn’t even a Chinese invention.

Still, I’ll keep watching, dammit I like the guy.