A Discoverie Of The Internet

Three revelations in today’s posting. Number one is that I’ve just worked out how to add ‘reactions’ to this blog. This is, as I’m sure you’ll agree, quite exciting. Do scroll down and view the end of this post for the tick boxes to which I refer. There are a choice of fine options for your most delicate deliberation, and I encourage you all to make full and appropriate use of this wonderful new facility. But wait, what if you’re reacting in a different way to the slim choice of options given? Well, tough. From now on, I dictate what your reactions will be, and I only wish I could do the same thing in real life. For example, last Tuesday I believe I made a relatively obscene suggestion involving me, you, your sister and my Lego City playset. Your actual reaction at the time: bemusedly disgusted. Your new suggested reaction: pleasantly surprised.

The second revelation is also the reason for working out how to add ‘reactions’ to this blog. You see, I’ve taken a step forward in my life – by attempting to understand this brave new world called the internet. Hint: when Miranda, at the end of The Tempest, says ‘O brave new world, / That has such people in it’, it’s supposed to be dramatic irony. She may, or may not, mean it. But the point is that, in The Tempest, we’ve just spent two hours watching the people who are supposed to represent said brave new world acting in ways which are neither new nor particularly brave. She, on the other hand, has been living in a cave playing chess. Now, chess may well be the game of kings and smart people in public parks, but I don’t think this lifestyle choice makes her the most able of social commentators. The distance between what we think she thinks and what we know we know is what makes it irony, okay? So when I say that the internet is a brave new world, I obviously mean that it is actually a huge pile of manure. And just like Biff in Back to the Future, I am not fond of manure. Are you with me? Have I explained the joke sufficiently for us all to be on the same page at this point? I do hope so.

The third revelation is the revelation which explains why I’ve been trying to understand the internet. Not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve just heard that this internet thing can make you money. Like, a lot of money. In fact, I heard that you can make it rather big, just by doing things with the internet. And no, I don’t mean the kind of things that you do with the internet. I mean other, legal things. Things that don’t leave you in need of a shower, and then also leave your shower in need of a shower, and then also leave that shower in need of another shower – until all the world is one huge showering shower that constantly cries to itself because it just can’t get clean.

No, what I’m planning to do is, if anything, far dirtier and more unscrupulous. That’s right, I’ve decided to ‘monetise’. I’ll admit that when I first read the word monetise, I had no idea what it meant. I thought it might be something to do with the Power Rangers’ latest special abilities, to be honest (and I’m not sure I’m entirely wrong, either). But no, apparently it just means offering advertising space in this, my personal area of the web. As I understand the situation, the internet is basically a small and limited space, and thus those poor advertisers have nowhere to put their adverts. But there’s a silver lining here, because in return for giving over what I’m sure is a tiny amount of space to some discreet and delightful advertisements, I could, I’m reliably informed, receive considerable amounts of gold. And, partly as a result of my pirate roots, I quite like gold.

So, here’s the part where I turn things over to you, my dear readers. Shall we experiment in the wonders of capitalism, in ways that will no doubt lead us straight to the bank? Or shall we leave undespoiled the hallowed halls of the Waspinator-for-President campaign factory? Only you, dear readers, can decide. And, just in case this part wasn’t clear, you can indicate your decision by way of the appropriate box below. I’d invite actual comments instead, but, well, you’d only go and say something stupid.


Notes: Yes, I modernised that Tempest quote. Want to make something of it? Well, I’d rather you didn’t, please. Thanks.

This Refreshing Cold Lemon Tea Sure Would Taste Even Better Hot, And Without The Lemon

Just like the long-dead Autobot Impactor, in issue #84 of the Marvel UK imprint of the Transformers comic, I have good days and bad days. 

Now I’m not saying I’m like Impactor in many other ways: I haven’t died twice, or even once; I don’t have a cannon on my shoulder; and I’ve never been leader of the Autobots ‘elite’ commando unit, the Wreckers. I don’t have a cool name like Impactor either. What’s more, I’ve never called Emirate Xaaron, the near-eastern-sounding Cybertronian Autobot leader, a ‘wily old buzzard’. I don’t even really know what ‘wily old buzzard’ means, although I’m generally suspicious of a 4 million-year-old robot calling another 4 million-year-old robot ‘old’. But Impactor and myself have this in common at least: we both have good days, and we both have bad days. And just like Impactor in issue #84, I’ve just suffered a really bad day.

Of course, Impactor’s really bad day (as chronicled in #84) involved squaring off against three Decepticon Triple-Changers. To be fair, I haven’t done that today. I mean, yeah, the three Decepticon Triple-Changers did actually turn out to be three Autobot Triple-Changers in disguise (you’d think a Transformer would look out for things like that), but it was still a really bad time for Impactor. Like issue #84 says, ‘welcome to one of his worst [days]!’. And sure, I think we can all agree that, as worst days go, it might not have been quite as bad as issue #88, where he got killed taking a bullet (okay, laser blast that went ‘Cham!’) for his buddy Emirate Xaaron. And it probably wasn’t as bad a day for Impactor as in issue #169, when following a brief resurrection he got re-killed saving Emirate Xaaron from the machinations of evil scientist Autobot, Flame. And, I think, not as bad as all the other issues, where he didn’t even get a mention, let alone some sort of thanks for dying twice. But still, yeah, in issue #84 he had one pretty bad day.

So look, my points here are twofold. Firstly, Emirate Xaaron is the worst Autobot leader of all time; secondly, I too have experienced a worst day. Now, on balance, my own worst day might not have been as bad as that time I got cut in two by the rotor-blades on Miles Mayhem’s plane-copter when he escaped my bunker (please come back, Miles). And, okay, if we’re being honest, it might not have been as bad a day as the day when [redacted], which I honestly will write about one day soon, when I get over the nightmare-inducing horror. And yes, on the whole, this worst day probably wasn’t quite as bad as all the days I didn’t get mentioned in UK Transformers #1 through #332, no matter how many nice messages I sent for possible inclusion in their letters page. But still, it was bad.

Why was it so bad? Well, if you’ll just shut up for a moment, I’ll go ahead and tell you. It’s nice to tell people about your troubles, you know. I mean, if you’ll let them get a word in edgeways. Just like it would have been nice had the Transformers letters page listened to me, and perhaps provided proof of having done so in print. Hell, I could understand Soundwave not replying when I wrote to him in his position as host of the letters page, or ‘Soundwaves’, as the page was cleverly entitled during his surprisingly lengthy tenure (issues #22 through #73, excepting issue #41). Soundwave is a dirtwad decepti-creep after all, and frankly not to be trusted at epistolary communication. He probably just turned the letters into energon cubes or something. Likewise, Dreadwind’s ‘Dread Tidings’ page (issues #184 through #299) couldn’t really be expected to dignify my missives with anything remotely like a deserving response.

And, you know, I could understand Grimlock not giving me the time of day when I wrote to him as host of ‘Grim Grams’ (issues #75 through #182). Grimlock couldn’t really speak beyond sentences like ‘me Grimlock smash brains’, so to expect him to compose a written response to my consistently erudite queries might have been a bit much. Similarly, Blaster can be let off the hook, I think. I’m fairly sure Blaster left most of the actual work to either Steeljaw or Ramhorn, his small cassette-tape friends. As highly advanced Transformer lifeforms, Steeljaw and Ramhorn had the ability to assume the form of either a cassette-tape or, respectively, a lion and a rhino. In neither shape, I imagine, would either of them be able to instruct anyone in the details of a response, let alone pick up a pen or hammer out an essay on the office Commodore 64.

But Ratchet. Ratchet really let me down. Picture the scene, if you will. It’s issue #41. It’s time for a change from Soundwave’s evil ignorance. It’s time to draw a line under the shadows of the past. It’s time for ‘Rat-Chat’, starring everyone’s favourite Autobot surgeon and all round good guy. A man (okay, robot) interested in helping people. A man (okay, robot) who prides himself on intellectual, moral conduct. A man (okay, robot) who, you might think, would be only too happy to reply to a letter from yours truly. Well, you’d think wrong. Because, frankly, Ratchet left me high and dry.

Yes, that day, that terrible dark day when Ratchet didn’t heed my keening call, was a pretty bad day indeed. But actually, and I’m just thinking aloud here, I think the day I’ve just had might have been even worse than that, bleak experience though that undoubtedly was. On the whole, then, it would have been nice if you’d let me tell you about it.

Notes: In all honesty, the onomatopoeic laser blast might not have been ‘cham’. It might well have been a ‘kazz-zap’ or even a ‘krrooom’. I don’t remember, and I couldn’t be bothered to look it up. Take that, academic referencing standards.

I Specifically Requested Mandrake The Magician For My Birthday Party, And All I Got Was Lothar

Dear So-Called "Defenders of the Earth",

Okay, so I’ve got a bone to pick with the lot of you. I’m going to state that I have said bone straight away, so everyone just knows where the hell they stand. When I saw the ad in the paper, no lies, I was just amazed. Really floored. "The Defenders?", I thought. "Are available for parties and events?" I’m not exaggerating when I say I fell giddily to the floor in something akin to religious rapture. Imagine! The Defenders of the Earth available for hire, and my birthday currently without any kind of entertainment booking! Well, I thought, this is simply too good to be true. And you know what, Defenders? It was.

Let’s be clear about this. Despite your claims to the contrary in company advertising, the good Mr. Lothar's strength was NOT a legend, and his skills did NOT conquer all. What Mr. Lothar did do, very successfully, was make a pretty bad mess of my piñata. The one that I had specially made for my best friend, Tommy. You want to know how that made Tommy feel? Well, you can see how it made him feel in the picture I've attached. He's the little boy in the middle, crying. Yes, the one in the wheel chair. The boy who your employee addressed as (and I quote) "Octon". Tommy bears no resemblance to Octon, Defenders of the Earth. Octon, as if you needed to be reminded, is a dome-shaped artificial intelligence with eight spider-like legs. Tommy is a five-year-old paraplegic. Also, Octon is remorseless in his desire to aid Ming the Merciless take over the cosmos, and the only thing stopping Octon from aiding Ming the Merciless in taking over the cosmos is Octon’s long and comedic rivalry with fellow henchman, Garax. Tommy, on the other hand, is remorseless in his desire to catch and play ball like a normal boy, and the only thing stopping Tommy from catching and playing ball like a normal boy is his long and not-particularly-comedic rivalry with a heartbreaking disability. You do see the difference, right, Defenders of the Earth?

Don’t misunderstand me, DotE. I get that Lothar was always kind of “required” on your team, if you know what I’m saying. Got to keep the minorities happy, am I right? But still, honestly, you'd think you could have found someone with an actual power. I’m not saying it has to be a super power, but something, you know? Like you’ve got Flash, who’s all about the rockets and whatnot, Mandrake does his magic, and Phantom has the whole beast-calling angle covered. And now that I think about it, DotE, any of these three members would have made for fine party entertainers. Little Tommy, so far as I can tell, is extremely fond of fireworks, magic, and animals. But come on, Defenders: which part of Lothar’s particular skill-set did you really think would be transferable to the small-venue entertainment market? His ability to punch people, perhaps?

Frankly, DotE, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Also, while I’m writing, please tell Flash Gordon to unplug his dead-wife-who’s-now-the-team-computer. It’s been long enough.

Why I Hate All Of You; And I Really, Really Do

Let me put this simply, and in language that even your tiny, self-involved, and self-important brains might just about understand. I hate you. No, seriously: I hate you.

And by hate, I don’t mean that kind of nominal, vague sort of hate that is sometimes useful as a neutral descriptor of everyday or common dislike. This is not the kind of hate that someone means when they say ‘Oh, I hate Mondays’, or ‘Ow, I stubbed my toe – don’t you just hate that?’. No, this is not that kind of hate at all. This is a very personal, burning kind of hatred that seethes in the deep, dark recesses of my very soul. This is the sort of hatred that makes me feel like I’m going to have a stroke, just because I don’t know quite what to do with the molten feelings clawing at my insides. This is, basically, the sort of hatred where I’m going to have to choose between killing you, or killing myself out of sheer frustration. To be clear: I dislike you very much.

And when I say you, I don’t mean that nominal, vague sort of you that I sometimes find useful as a neutral second party to these blog postings. Someone who I can make fun of, or joke with. No, I don’t mean that at all. I mean you. You in particular. Yes, that’s right, you. You right there. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hate a lot of people. And I hate those people a lot. But out of all those people who I hate a lot, I hate you the most.

But wait, because when I say all, I also mean literally all of you. I mean, yes, I hate you in particular, very much, but that ‘you’ I use is not necessarily a particularly particularised particular. That is, I have more than enough room to specifically hate you all an individualised amount, even as I continue to hate you all as a group even more than I hate everybody else. I hate you in an amount which is, if you like, variable, to allow an increased amount of hatred for whichever of you is currently the subject of my hate. Which, not to put too fine a point on the matter, is all of you at once. I mean, you might think I’d run out of hate. But you’d be very wrong. Oh, there’s plenty to go around, don’t you worry about that. Frankly, I’m a conveyor belt, endlessly spurting out hatred patties like a metaphorical version of a fast-food burger chain, and also like a literal version of a fast-food burger chain.

Now, when I say ‘and I really, really do’, what I’m trying to get across there is the sheer weight of seriousness with which I’m willing to back the idea of my hatred for you. I mean, I’m not just sure that I hate you, I’m double-really sure. I’m laying it all on the line here. This isn’t like hating milk or jelly beans or the concept of free enterprise, something that I might hate one day and then not hate the next. No, it’s not like that at all. This isn’t a fly-by-night sort of hate that’s going to turn into something else with the rising of the sun. This isn’t like ‘oh, I hate war’ or ‘oh, I hate starvation’. No, this is for keeps. This is real. This is really, really real.

But you can forget all that, because what’s important here is the why. That’s the heart of the matter, even as the matter of my heart is currently consumed with the most hateful of hates. Even as I am consumed in flames of raging ire, it is the reason for it which is truly the burning issue. Basically, I hate you all so very much because I love you all so very much. And on the whole, it’s a bit maddening.

Notes: Sometimes when I say one thing in this blog I might actually mean the opposite. I do this as a representation of how clever I think I am. It’s all a real mindbender really, isn’t it? Or maybe it isn’t. Or maybe it is. Well, whichever it is, please make it stop now. Or don't.

My Latest Blog Entry Is Both Beneficial And Entertaining

Oh hello there. Once again, you’ve caught me mid-blog; isn’t it funny how that keeps happening? Well, frankly, no: it isn’t funny at all. In fact, it’s actually quite harrowing. Had you come along a little bit later, you see, I might have had a finished product for you. It might have been about something really interesting or amusing. It might have been, as the good Chaucer says, of best sentence and moost solaas. It might have been, as More wrote, both salutaris and festivus. But, I’m quite afraid to say, it isn’t. You just got here way too early.

So, you know, thanks a bunch for disturbing me and messing everything up. No really, thanks a lot. Like Coleridge’s man from Porlock, you’ve just ruined what could have been the greatest literary work this side of whatever is the opposite of Harry Potter. In short, you’ve totally ruined this post. And I had some great things in mind, too.

For example, I had a story about this one time where I did something really droll, witty and funny, but which was also instructional and of high moral value. My goodness, it was good. Sententious, but hysterical. How uproariously you would have laughed while simultaneously being morally edified. How you would have chortled alongside a most religious chant. You can’t imagine it, I know, because it seems impossible. Well, you should have just been here five minutes later, because trust me, it would have been great. But, you know, you weren’t here five minutes later, were you?

So, really, I think you should just go away and let me finish.

Notes: Hey, wouldn’t it have been funny if Harry in When Harry Met Sally had been Harry Potter? No, it wouldn’t have been funny at all, in almost exactly the same ways that Billy Crystal wasn’t funny as Harry in When Harry Met Sally. This is precisely my point, of course: imagine practically anybody or anything as Harry in When Harry Met Sally and you have yourself a better film. Kermit the Frog opposite Meg Ryan? Funny. The concept of free enterprise opposite Meg Ryan? Funny. But Harry Potter opposite Meg Ryan does nothing for me at all. That’s how bad the Harry Potter franchise is – exactly as bad as Billy Crystal. And just so we’re clear, that’s pretty bad.

But Does News Groper Have A Will Smith 'Easy On The Swears' Policy?

Sorry, but I don’t believe it does.

Yes, News Groper is very funny. Yes, it features ironic blog content. Yes, that means this blog and a million others are completely redundant. Hell, I may as well just pack this in now, and maybe not even finish this sentence. But I did finish that sentence. And that one. And, at the risk of aforementioned redundancy, that one too. Because I believe that I have something that Mr Funnysite News Groper does not, and that is a Will Smith-inspired 'easy on the swears' policy. This blog is a socially responsible blog. This blog will never use potty language. It may occasionally reference bestiality, Jamie Lynn Spears, or various other perversions in the name of a cheap gag, but it will never swear while doing so. It is, as much as anything can be these days, child-friendly – in precisely the way that Michael Jackson’s keening ghost isn’t.

But this is not all. I have decided to take even more aggressive action in my defence against the dark arts of News Groper. In fact, I’m going to beat those News Groper guys at their own game. I’m going to be so cleverly funny, that in fact I will not be funny. Deliberately. I’m going to be so cleverly ironic, that I won’t be ironic any more. I will sail past the point of no-return, the irony event horizon, and come smiling (but with what intent?) out the other side. It will be like Disney’s The Black Hole – and by that I refer to their late seventies space 'epic' featuring Robert Forster and Anthony Perkins, and not the amount of money they poured into Michael Eisner’s private pockets. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking about that Eisner joke. 1995 called, it wants its social-political commentary back. Well, go screw yourselves.

The Black Hole was a great film, by the way. And I’ve realised that, in a way, it has actually passed its own event horizon, to emerge meaningfully out the other side. See, in 1979, when it was released, it was a terrible, terrible movie. Just awful. Those floating tin-can robots with the big stuck-on eyes? Ugh. Having Roddy McDowall provide the voice of said robot also did not help matters, except, perhaps, to make the robot itself seem uncannily realistic and compelling by comparison. But now, watch it directly after ANY Pixar movie, and enjoy how impressively ironic this film is, some twenty years before the content it so clearly ironizes. Let’s see how this works. For those of you unfamiliar with any Pixar film, let me relate to you the plot of any Pixar film. So there’s a couple of mismatched buddies who don’t quite get along. One of them is a bit more serious than the other one, who’s a bit more funny. There’s a quest that this unlikely couple need to achieve, and guess what? They’re going to have to work together to do it! Somewhere along the line there will be some mild jeopardy or peril, and one of the characters will think that they’ve lost the other character. Then, both of the characters will learn a lesson. And then they’ll come together to win the show. End credits. Oh, and they’ll be an implausible score from Randy Newman. I remember the days when Randy Newman was good. Do you remember Faust? That was a great piece. What happened, Randy? What happened in the dark recesses of your soul?

So anyway, The Black Hole did all that a long old time ago, and it had a hovering robot called Maximilion. So, you know, Pixar sucks.

Notes: I just googled The Black Hole and discovered they're doing a remake. That's not good, for almost exactly the same reasons that the Tron remake will be the most amazing film ever. Yeah, I like Tron. Don't act like you're surprised.

My Funding Bid Is In! “Mutabiliti-e: The Spenserian Virtual Learning Environment”

Dear Unspecified Research Council,

Oh hi there! So I hear you fund all kinds of forward-thinking work these days. Well, have I got an educationally non-discriminatory/ nationally engaged/ community focused/ learning e-motivated project for you!

I know what you’re thinking: “can he really deliver on these ambitious claims?” But don’t worry Unspecified Research Council! Because I am *literally* prepared to cut my aims in half for you. Or even further! Oh yes, my moneyed friends, I’ll happily downgrade to whatever level of scholarship you require. Would you like a section of the site to examine the points of intersection between Spenser’s Irish landscape and last night’s episode of Coronation Street? Because I can make that happen. What’s that I hear you say? You think the site could benefit from a games area, where interested scholars can attempt to stab the Blatant Beast with their mouse? Hey, I for one think that’s a really great idea, and I’m more than willing to take it on board.

I tell you, Unspecified Research Council, I’m so glad you’re letting me run these ideas past you. This project could have been so stuffily intellectual. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was trying to “think future” with it from the get-go. It’s not like I’d ever dream of sending you a funding proposal for something stupid and passé. Like archival research. Or genuinely original scholarship. Or an educational centre…with books. Can you imagine it? The horror. All that paper! Who ever dreamed up that stuff was off their rocker, am I right?

But I’ll tell you this, Unspecified Research Council, I’m being corporate-minded here. And I think we both know that a corporate-minded approach to education is exactly what an academic funding council like you should want to see. Now, I’m looking at external sources of connected funding, and I’m thinking Toys-R-Us. Here’s the plan: so a student is reading a passage (in modernised l33t of course), with Red Cross Knight, and guess what? Bam! Hyperlink straight to the Knight from our own range of Spenser toys! Purchasable with period-realistic nuclear tank. Or get him with buddies Una and Fidelia, each in a range of fun, sexy outfits! I think you’ll agree, this is solid, community-focused work.

But just hang on there, Unspecified Research Council, because I understand what you’re probably thinking. Hey, it’s what I’m thinking too. Isn’t there a risk here, that working with Toys-R-Us is going to mark this project out as somehow too high-brow? Aren’t we refusing to engage with potential markets, and discriminating against those learners who would perhaps prefer to buy from a less intellectually rigorous toy-store? Well don’t worry. I’m way ahead of you on this one, and I think I have the perfect solution. And even better, it’s an electronic solution.

With the Mutabiliti-e patented Scholar-Shop, our learners will actually be able to choose an appropriate “Spenser Sponsor” to suit their edutainment needs. Perhaps you’d like your Faerie Queene to be queen of the playboy mansion? Done. Perhaps you’d like your Shepherd’s Calendar in the form of an actual calendar replete with pictures of that guy from High School Musical? Done. Yes indeedy, this is user-focused, interdisciplinary work we’re designing here.

One small problem, though, my dearest Unspecified Research Council. While the primary outcome of this project will be the collection of revenue, and the secondary outcome of this project will be the spawning of more revenue-producing projects, and the tertiary outcome of this project will be free advertising for you, and the quaternary outcome of this project will be the freeing-up of teaching hours for more revenue-producing work, there is still just the teeniest tiniest possibility that somewhere in this idea there may yet be an un-expunged nugget of actual usefulness and learning.

I’m sorry Unspecified Research Council, but even the best work has unexpected flaws.

Note 1: I’m so very sorry I uttered the word “teaching” above, Unspecified Research Council. Don’t worry, I’ve crossed myself the requisite number of times.

Note 2: Of course, any or all of the above may be potentially libellous. If you’re from the particular Unspecified Research Council we all know I'm talking about (i.e. any and all of them anywhere ever), and you’d like me to remove this post, please contact me to have a nice discussion about intellectual freedom. And don’t worry, you can do it electronically.