Advertising's Got You On The Run

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is adverts. Again.

I know I've talked about adverts before and that it's lazy and boring.

So, adverts. I got so annoyed about seeing them on TV that I stopped watching it, and turned instead to the internet. But, here's the weird thing, they have adverts here as well! The wild-eyed hunch-backed parasites who make adverts have ventured out of their castles made of money and posters of Jon Hamm for long enough to see that, actually, the internet is pretty popular. As a result, you can't watch a stupid YouTube video or write an abusive  Facebook comment without someone telling you to buy something, or sign up somewhere, or sell your organs to someone. Here are 5 adverts that make you wish that the internet would explode, killing everyone in an almighty blast of kittens, tweets and pornography.

5. 

Wow! What a bunch of cunts! What would Don Draper say if you suggested the slogan "Shoot Wow! Share Now!" 

4. 

I got this Zizzi advert as an email, and I've been sat here for days and days wondering if there's something I'm missing. "A game of two offers." Surely it can't just be a play on the phrase "a game of two halves." Because that DOESN'T FUCKING WORK. "A game of two offers." I'm still confused. I've been staring at it for what seems like a lifetime. I haven't slept, I haven't eaten, I've just been reading it, again and again and again. I won't get that time back. In that time, I could have cured cancer, or written a beautiful novel, or (perhaps more likely) watched Peep Show for the thousandth time. "A game of two offers." I don't understand...

3.

I listen to a lot of brilliant, free podcasts, and I don't mind hearing the occasional advert if it means they stay free. But the Absolute Radio podcasts seem to have gone out of their way to intentionally make my ears bleed.

Gym by Minimeier on Mixcloud

PayasUgym. I don't know what the rest of the advert says, just because my brain hears "payasUgym" and deploys a painfully high-pitched screeching tone as a form of defence mechanism.

2. 


Facebook never ceases to be a source of self-mutilation levels of anger, and amongst the pictures of people trying desperately to convince the internet that they're having a great time (such a great time that they just had to take a photo and upload it to Facebook just in case anyone was in any doubt over just how great a time they were having), are adverts. And even worse, they're targeted adverts, so they use an ingenious algorithm, which studies my online activity, pinpoints all my interests, and works out exactly what it is that I need.

No actually Facebook, I don't "Need local Digger." But thanks anyway.

No actually Facebook, I don't "Need local Pest Control". But thanks anyway. And thanks also for resisting the temptation to put a mangled, bloodied rodent in that mousetrap.

Actually I quite like this one, because it looks like it's just an advert for the fact that there are some girls on Facebook.


1.

So I'm trying to watch Peep Show for the thousandth time, when this comes on; it appears to be an advert for mothers. "Now thank your mum." No I won't, bossy advert. "Proud sponsor of Mums"? It's so confusing it makes that Zizzi advert seem positively sensible. This just makes me want to cut off the hands of everyone in the advert so that when they try to make that heart shape, they just bump their stumps together while crying and bleeding everywhere. I hate all mums.


Thanks for reading, the title of this blog is from the System of a Down song Chic N' Stu, with which I will leave you. Enjoy! Oh, and this blog is sponsored by Mums.

Too Young To Die

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is horror films.

Last year I wrote a blog about media representations of young people. Kind of. It was more just a rant about the BBC drama Dive. It aired 2 years ago now but I'm still not over it. This is one of the only clips of it on YouTube, and it contains perhaps the clumsiest piece of exposition ever; "It's gonna get tougher if you want to be in contention for the olympics in 2012." And don't get me started on that fucking music...

It's probably shows like Dive that have made me turn away from TV dramas, and towards horror films. Dive should be more like the diving scene from A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child.

Classic horror films provide a much more accurate representation of young people. Obviously I'm not talking about the whiney, privileged teens of the slasher genre; when they're not going to summer camps where a massacre had taken place the previous year, they're going to summer camps right next to the summer camp where a massacre had taken place the previous year. These annoying teenagers have been cleverly parodied in brilliant, postmodern horror films like Scream and The Cabin in the Woods.


I'm no longer allowed to judge what is and what isn't a good representation of youth, being a ridiculous 20 years old, which means I'll be dead in 50 or 60 days. But I still feel the alienation and insecurity of adolescence, and I suspect I always will. The best depictions of adolescence are bleak, and isolated, and I can't speak for all young people (I can) but those existential representations are the ones familiar to me. Oh boo-fucking-hoo, on with the Top 5 representations of adolescence in classic horror films: 


5. Carrie

Brian De Palma's adaptation of Stephen King's novel is a perfect representation of young people, in that they're all cunts. But unlike the delightful hatebags of Skins, their acting like  loathsome bullies isn't celebrated or glorified. Rather, it's gorified. 


Carrie is a victim; a victim of playground bullying, a victim of her oppressively religious upbringing, a victim of all-round ostracism for being different. This idea of victimisation is a vivid representation of adolescence, and the heightened, garish high school prom represents everything that's shit about being a teenager. I mean, who has ever had fun at a school prom? Dicks.


4. Battle Royale

Yes it is a classic, albeit a modern one. This Japanese piece of brutally scathing satire is a viciously honest representation of youth. A cautionary tale about the dangers of an overly-powerful state, the teenagers (well, children) forced to fight to the death are moulded and manipulated by an authority which seeks to curb the unruliness of youth by any means necessary. It's exactly what would happen if Michael Gove had any imagination.


As well as the victimisation of youth, Battle Royale cleverly, and with its uniquely dark sense of humour, transposes the petty schoolyard relationships into the battle; are there any of your classmates you want to kill? Well now you can! Teenage vanities are also carried over into the lawless mayhem; there's still time to curl your eyelashes before hacking someone to death with a sickle!

3. Martin

You know how hard it is to talk to someone you fancy? And you just don't know how to approach them? So you end up having to inject them with a sedative and drink their blood? It's textbook teenage behaviour.

George A. Romero, the genius that he is, understands the profound disconnect between the old and the young in society, which shines through in his classic Night of the Living Dead as well as this unconventional Vampire film. Martin, while clearly influencing Dexter, beautifully encapsulates the real sense of alienation felt by teenagers, forced to be outsiders if they don't fit in; trapped by the constraints of authority; constantly threatened by the moral panic of a society with its monopoly on morality, bound by outdated conventions and religions. When something threatens that, they leap with relish at the opportunity to destroy that outsider that they just don't understand, that scares them and drives them to their pitchforks and torches and tabloids.

Struggling against that tide is Martin, alienated and alone, trying to make sense of this shit-hole of a world. "People are the hardest thing," he observes. "They don't talk, not really. They don't say what they mean."

2. The Hitcher

Obviously the original with Rutger Hauer as opposed to the remake with Sean Bean, which I've not seen but inevitably ruins it. An innocent, naive teenage boy picks up a hitchhiker to stop himself falling asleep at the wheel. Who in their right mind would pick up a hitchhiker who looked as terrifyingly unhinged as Rutger Hauer?! So that's a fairly solid depiction of a young person; he's an idiot. His blind aimlessness is a beautiful representation of adolescence, as his youthful world is sadistically turned into a nihilistic hell by the Hitcher's playful torment, which teaches the kid more about life than any teacher ever could. Unless Rutger Hauer is your teacher, I guess. It's a bit like a horror film version of a Limmy's Show sketch. 

The Hitcher is relentlessly bleak, with youth represented by a mindless journey, set in a liminal space; we join our protagonist on the road and we leave him on the road, with a profound sense of circularity. This is a perfect portrayal of adolescence; as existential nightmare. Also, next time you eat chips, watch out for any severed fingers lurking amongst them...

1. River's Edge

Maybe it doesn't count as horror, but I love it. And what's not to love? Dennis Hopper plays a mentally-unstable uber-junkie called Feck who's in love with an inflatable sex doll named Elly; "Look, I'm not psycho, I know she's a doll. Right, Elly?" It's like a Tim Minchin song. But weirder.

Meanwhile, Crispin Glover gives one of the most fascinating performances in the history of cinema.

Not only is River's Edge bleak, funny, bizarre, realistic and beautiful, it is a mesmerising representation of adolescence. A teenager kills his girlfriend because "she was talking shit", (don't worry, that's not the part with which I identify. By which I mean I don't have a girlfriend.) and his friends respond in a shockingly nihilistic way. Some rally around to protect him from the law, some are so apathetic that they don't seem to care at all, and some, most significantly, just don't know what to think; "I don't know how I felt", confesses Keanu Reeves' character, the lack of emotion making this role perfect for him. Not even he can ruin this film, even when in full-on Bill & Ted mode.

It's a hypnotically raw depiction of youth, rooted in sheer, nihilistic boredom. In an existential void, abandoned by society and left to find their way in a dark, sparse and confusing world, with the failed values of previous generations crumbling around them, they fall into the self-fulfilling prophecy of moral decline proclaimed by the adults. 

But cheer up, because now you'll never be able to drink warm beer without thinking "It's warm even!" 

So to sum up, adolescence is bleak and lonely, then adulthood is boring and soul-destroying, then you die. THANKS FOR READING! I'll leave you with the brilliant Jamiroquai song that this blog is named after, enjoy!

Electioneering

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is party political literature.

So there are local elections on Thursday, as you can tell by the widespread sigh of no one giving a fuck. And with elections, come campaign material, an insufferable concoction of lies and boring. I received this letter a few days ago.

"I wanted to write to you personally."


Followed by a generic letter.


And a scanned-in signature.


Obviously I don't expect candidates to write to everyone individually, that would be ridiculous. What I hate is the fact that Momotaz Rahim has claimed to have written to me personally, when obviously she hasn't. She thinks I'm stupid, that I'll look at the letter and go, "how lovely of her to write this for me personally!" If she'd actually written it to me personally she'd have left out the shit about roads and pavements. It's as if she doesn't know me at all.


To be fair, she doesn't say she has written to me personally, just that she wanted to, but you know. If that line wasn't there the letter would be absolutely fine, and it would go straight in the bin rather than the scanner. But she had to insult my intelligence by claiming to be writing to me personally. Needless to say, I won't be voting for her.


And while I'm here, I feel I should complain about a TV show. In the latest episode of HBO's new series Girls, (I know, you don't watch it because you're too busy writing Facebook statuses) there was a scene in which a character was tweeting.

But the only tweets showing in her timeline are her own. Which suggests that she doesn't follow anyone. Except she does, it says she follows a massive 902 people. So apparently none of those 902 people have tweeted for at least 13 hours, which seems ridiculously unlikely. And that's not her profile, that's her Home tab, so the timeline should be showing the tweets of everyone she follows. 


Disappointing, HBO, disappointing.


Thanks for reading this blog, which I wrote for you personally. It's named after a Radiohead song, and I'll leave you with the brilliant reggae cover by Easy Star All-Stars, enjoy!

Scenester

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and here are three more of them.

I know you don't watch a lot of TV shows, because you have "better" things to do, like "work" or "standing up". But as I've said before, it's your loss, because some TV shows are brilliant. Most of the time.

Even the best shows occasionally let themselves down. Well actually, the BEST shows don't; Six Feet Under and Community never do, for instance. But in a lot of great TV shows, there'll be scenes that stick out awkwardly, like they've left their flies undone. Here are three examples of bad scenes in good TV shows:

3. None of these adoption pens work! (Lost, #1.10: "Raised by Another.")

I could write entire blogs about stupid scenes in Lost, but this one struck me as particularly fascinating. If I was signing papers to confirm that I'd give my child up for adoption, and two pens in a row didn't work, I wouldn't take it as some sort of divine sign. I'd say, "Why don't any of your pens work? What's going on? Can you just give me a pen that works, please?" The best bit is at 2:16 when that woman goes, "What? No! No!" The entire production team of one of the biggest budget shows ever made all saw that and went, "Yep, sounds good to me."

2. Subtext is overrated. (Firefly, #1.2: "The Train Job.") Go to 8:30 - 8.47:

Don't get me wrong, I love Firefly as much as the next nerd. But there are 3 things wrong with it: The theme tune, most of the first episode, and this bit. Mal leaves the room, and River says, "Mal... bad... in the Latin." Thanks River. You're meant to be a genius and that's what you come up with. And you say it as if you've solved some ancient riddle that holds the key to life. You've barely said a word until now, then you deem it worth opening your mouth for that.

1. Bono ruins everything. (Scrubs, #2.19: "My Kingdom.")

 

Is that the worst plot device ever used? Yes, it is. Firstly, no one loves U2, so that's a gaping plot hole. At best, people tolerate U2. At worst, they dream of committing disturbingly specific acts of violence upon U2. Probably, I wouldn't know... But the joke here is that U2 sounds like "you too." Now that is genius, take note, River. U2 sounds like "you too", I'm laughing so hard I just choked up my own heart and stamped it to death.

You just wonder how some things make it onto TV. It's not like the internet, where anyone can put any old shit...

Thanks for reading, I'll leave you with the excellent Big D and the Kids Table song that this blog is named after, enjoy!

Mad Man

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is Mad Men.

During its 17-month hiatus, a ridiculous number of shows have come along which TV critics everywhere have lazily dubbed "the new Mad Men", because it's also set in the '60s, or also features people wearing suits, or also is a show that is on TV.

But finally, a show has come along that really is "the new Mad Men." What is this show? It's the AMC drama Mad Men.

It returned this week and it was as brilliant as ever. Apart from one scene, which provoked a feminist shake of the head from me.

Sorry Don Draper fans, and I am one of you, but that was rape. Well, it started as rape, but of course it turned out that she wanted it all along. And she didn't actually mean it when she said "No". And "Don't". And "I don't want it". The problem is one that feminist philosophers Rae Langton and Catharine MacKinnon raised about the silencing of women. This scene is a perfect example. It tells us that when women say "No" to sex, they don't mean it. This legitimises rape. She says "No", she says it clearly, she repeats the rejection again and again. But she doesn't mean it, she wants Don Draper because he's Jon Hamm and she's a woman. So when women say "No", they mean "Yes", the confused idiots. That is the silencing of women, and it's dangerous. It might be familiar to you from pornography, but this is Mad Men. That episode was watched by 3.5 million people in the US alone, and it's telling them that "No" doesn't mean "No". I expect sexism from the characters of Mad Men, but not from the show itself.

It's not just the US who are guilty of sexism in their TV shows; the BBC's own 1960's drama White Heat (the new Mad Men) recently caused another feminist shake of the head. Obviously you first have to get past the relentless lingering shots of people staring out of windows and into mirrors. It is a BBC drama after all. Because you're all too important to watch TV, I'll briefly explain the context.

This is Charlotte, played by Claire Foy, the Abi Morgan of acting. She's a feminist.

See? That's in her bedroom. She's a feminist. That's her thing.

This is Jack the uber-creep, played by Brian May, probably.

They are sort of together. But he treats her like shit; he tells everyone, over dinner, that she shaves under her arms; he sleeps with her for the first time, makes a remark about "a bit of uncomplicated sex", slaps her bum and fucks off; he sleeps with her best friend. I told you it was a BBC drama. This is what happens next.

So all it takes for Charlotte - did I mention she was a feminist? - to forgive charm-void Jack is a nibble on the hand and a lazy cliché? In the space of a minute, she goes all gooey about him. Because she's a woman, and as feminist as they claim to be, they still can't say "No" to a man, no matter how much of a dick they are. This show says that you can take the most strident feminist ever, give them a minute with a thing with a penis, and they'll melt like Silly Putty, the silly women.

We deserve better representations of women on our TV screens, not shows that patronise and silence women. The new Mad Men is really good though.

Thank you for reading, I'll leave you with the song by The Hives that this blog is named after, and a slap on the bum. Enjoy!

People = Shit

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is people.

Do I really have to be more specific? Fine, here's three types of people who need to be retired by a Blade Runner.

3. Imagine you're at a party. That's a surprisingly large stretch of the imagination for some of us. You're there at this party, playing with party poppers and eating Party Rings (and remember, if you're at a party and there are no Party Rings, shout: "What? No Party Rings? I thought this was a FUCKING PARTY!" and storm out.) and you get chatting to someone. You're getting on brilliantly, when the conversation turns to music. "What's your favourite band?" you ask, and they reply: "The Beatles."

What do you do?

A) Punch them, or

B) Punch them.

Now don't get me wrong, The Beatles are great. But how boring would you have to be for your favourite band to be The Beatles? As far as I'm concerned, if you have regular access to the internet, you have no excuse for The Beatles being your favourite band.

Again let me clarify, I have nothing against The Beatles. I could just as easily have said Queen or The Killers. We have an incomprehensibly rich tapestry of music at our fingertips, and your favourite band is Queen? Them who did I Want To Break Free?

Or how about this: Imagine the conversation at the party turns to TV and they tell you that their favourite TV show is Friends. Let me stress that I like Friends. But your favourite TV show? Do you realise there are 5 channels now, at least?

It's this drip-feeding of culture that's the problem; people will just accept whatever is waved in front of them the most. When something is widely popular it's because it casts a wide net. Something that broad can't be anyone's favourite. Your favourite band, or TV show, or film, or whatever, ought to say something about you. If your favourite song is Mr. Brightside, all it says about you is that you're not someone I want to be around.

So seek stuff out, don't just lazily wait for something so bland and diluted to drip through the cracks into your living room.

2. Imagine you're at a party. You've walked away from that boring idiot whose nose is broken because he must have walked into a door or something, and you get talking to someone else; picture someone who is confident with themselves. You're picturing a cunt, aren't you?

People don't like overconfidence, and rightly so, because overconfidence is arrogance. But I didn't tell you to picture someone who was overconfident, just someone who was confident. And you pictured a cunt. Because confident people are cunts.

Confidence is celebrated, while self-consciousness is seen as a bad thing. It should be the other way round; I want to reclaim self-consciousness. Because it's about questioning everything, including yourself. Obviously there's nothing wrong with a bit of confidence, but any more than a drop is bad, like with Nando's Extra Extra Hot Sauce, or heroin.

As the wonderful Bertrand Russell said: "The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt." We should always be full of doubt. We should be self-conscious and confused. Because who isn't? Idiots.

I've met confident people, and they are impossible to like. I just think: What happened in your life to make you this sure of yourself, and why has no one ever told you to stop being a dick? In fact, "Stop Being A Dick" is practically my mantra. I should get it tattooed on my arm, along with "Write Essay" and "Go To Bed."

1. Imagine you're at a party. Your confident friend didn't think much of your incoherent rambling about reclaiming self-consciousness, and got bored and wandered off to loudly spout bullshit at anyone who'll listen. So you venture into another insufferable room and get into conversation with someone else. It's going great, when the conversation turns inevitably to TV again. "What's your favourite TV show?" you ask, confident that whatever they say, it'll be better than Friends. You are wrong. They reply: "I don't really watch much TV."

You stare at them as if they've said: "I kill people with a screwdriver." You eat a Party Ring to keep from passing out, and ask them why. "I just never have time." That's when you attempt the first ever murder by party popper.

How fucking arrogant do you have to be to "not have time" to watch TV shows? Three things: Firstly, I am hugely doubtful of that claim. What could you possibly do all day and night that makes you not have time to watch TV? Are you a Superhero? Secondly, you make time to watch TV. When you have a choice between watching TV and something else, you watch TV. The same applies to films. Thirdly, when people say this, they feel superior. It's like this, which I've talked about on here before:

What kind of psychopath would choose that over a thousand hours of TV? These smug, self-satisfied psychopaths. Ironically, I'll stop watching TV just to avoid those army adverts.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't be angry at people who don't watch TV or films. I should give them my pity. If you really are so important that you literally don't have time to watch TV shows or films, then I feel genuinely sorry for you. Because you will never be happy. You don't know how to relax and wind down. You're missing out on some truly incredible work. You'll never see Community or 30 Rock or Six Feet Under or American Horror Story or Peep Show or The Thick Of It. Your life is shit.

You walk away from this beacon of smug, as they stand covered in party popper streamers with a baffled expression on their stupid face. You walk home alone and angry, and try to vent by writing a blog which attempts to justify your inadequate way of life; your sheer laziness and lack of confidence. But it's no use, and the blog ends up sneering and nasty. Exhausted, you fall into bed, dreading tomorrow but longing for sleep. And you can't even manage that.

THANKS FOR READING!!!!!!! I'll leave you with the lovely Slipknot song that this blog is named after, enjoy!

Party Politics Part 3: Appleyard With A Vengeance

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is the New Statesman. Again.

Today the sun was out, and so were the idiots. There's something about a nice warm day that makes them bash their laptops with their flip-flops in the hope that some semi-coherent Facebook status falls out which points at the sky and notices that "it's sunnyyyyyyyyyyy!"

This is a similar kind of response to those that lazy journalists have whenever secularism comes up in the news. They instantly churn out tired, knee-jerk articles about "militant atheism", with the unfailing, unthinking reaction of Pavlov's dog, complete with salivation.

The worst of these in the wake of Baroness Warsi's recent spewings came from the Telegraph, which argued that Dawkins' ancestors owned slaves and he is therefore EVIL. But even the Independent couldn't resist some Dawkins-dumping, calling him "puffed-up, self-regarding, vain, prickly and militant", before adding, "and that's not a lazy cliché," despite that being exactly what it is.

So, my bleeding brain in hand, I turned to my beloved New Statesman. "The NS is sensible," I thought, "they never fall back on boring hack material." Clearly I'm the biggest idiot of all. This was the front cover:

I didn't realise it was Make Your Respectable Current Affairs Magazine Look Like A Sensationalist Tabloid Day, nor that the new editor was Michael Bay.

Now held in a mental headlock, Bryan Appleyard repeatedly punched me in the face with this article.

He starts by casually mentioning that he was having dinner with three of the foremost writers of our time, and continues to smugly refer back to this Greek meal.

Let's look at some quotes from Appleyard's artidull:

"The talk is genial, friendly and then, suddenly, intense when neo-atheism comes up. Three of us, including both atheists, have suffered abuse at the hands of this cult."

Calling neo-atheism a cult may be superbly clever, particularly when in the dining company of these intellectual giants, but it's not accurate. "Cult" according to Dictionary.com:

A particular system of religious worship, especially with reference to its rites and ceremonies.

OK, so does neo-atheism fit this definition? No, quite the opposite in fact; it's a lack of religious worship. And there are no rites or ceremonies, unless you include the annual ritual slaughtering of a Christian, obviously.

"Dawkins, the supreme prophet of neo-atheism..."

Do you see what he did there? He called Dawkins (famous for his lack of religion) a prophet (a religious leader). THIS IS WHAT I FUCKING MEAN.

“Immediately [Dawkins] was out of control, he said, 'Oh, God!'" Warsi recalls, "so even the most self-confessed secular fundamentalist at this moment of need needed to turn to the Almighty. It kind of defeats his own argument that only people who go to church have a faith."

It's hard to know where to start with this drooling piece of cluelessness from everyone's favourite unelected idiot. Using the expression "Oh, God!" is not an admission of religious belief. That's like if Baroness Warsi said "Shit!" and I went, "Ah! So you admit that you need a shit!" Although, she probably does have to vocalise each time she has a bowel movement.

She ploughs on: "Even the most self-confessed secular fundamentalist at this moment of need needed to turn to the Almighty." But a "secular fundamentalist" might well "turn to the Almighty." Obviously Dawkins isn't, but secularists can be religious. What Warsi has done is to confuse secularism with atheism. Appleyard warned against this earlier in the article, but he claimed that, "Neo-atheists often assume that the two are the same thing." Clearly a greater problem is journalists and politicians making this mistake.

But the main point is, "Oh, God!" is an expression, that needn't have philosophical implications. I'm genuinely angry that I have to explain that.

De Botton: "[Dawkins] stands at the head of what can really be called a cult."

It really can't.

"There had always been an anti-religious strain in science..."

One which makes sense if you stop and think about it for just one second between smashing plates.

Fodor now chuckles at the memory. "I said we should write back saying we had no intention of reading his review but we thought it was all wrong anyway."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fodor: "If you found something with two heads and a horn in the middle you could cook up some story from evolution saying it was just dandy to have two heads with a horn in the middle. It's just sloppy thinking."

...What?

"Religion is not going to go away."

I'm with Appleyard on this one, but all this means is that I have no sympathy for claims that "religion is under attack." Religious privilege is under attack, and rightly so, but religious belief can stop acting the victim.

Then Appleyard mentions that they all laughed at a question that Dawkins had asked Hitchens, which brings to mind the thought of them all sitting round their moussakas and pretensiously cackling away at the desperately unfunny like the worst type of dinner party guests.

I know it was Bayswater and not Montreal but considering I just grafted four of the smuggest faces ever onto a picture apparently taken in hell itself, you could give me a break.

Thanks for reading, if I do many more of these sequels I'm going to seriously struggle with puns on fourth and fifth parts of film franchises. This blog is named after a Catch-It Kebabs song, again, and I'll leave you with a different song of theirs, again. Enjoy!