Tag Archives: dead

Kim Jong-Il: dead, hilarious bastard

Well, he’s dead. The most hilarious-yet-horrifying person the world has ever seen* is no more. Taken from us while on his ridiculous armoured train he travelled the world** in. According to the people You Can Trust, he suffered megadeath as a result of overworking himself physically and mentally, trying to bring stability and prosperity to the nation he loved***.

Kim Jong-Il is dead. No longer with us. Deceased. He is an ex-dictator. Shuffled off this mortal coil.

Now, Gadaffi I didn’t much care for: he looked weird, he waved like a girl, he was clearly a complete knob. The other bastard killed this year wasn’t a dictator per se, but Osama Bin Laden was in fact a poopy head. He never did much for me, truth be told.

But Kim Jong-Il always amused me. Not to be that guy****, but I was well into him before Team America made him cool. There was just something about him. He didn’t carry himself well. He didn’t look like a statesman. He didn’t look evil. He didn’t look like a complete fucker. He didn’t look like much of anything, except for an overgrown baby with absolutely stupid hair.

And that’s why he was so great. I mean, granted, he caused the pain, suffering and deaths – directly and indirectly – of thousands, possibly millions. He was, by all measures of a man, a complete cunt. But how on earth could you ever stay mad at Kim Jong-Il when he did things like what I did write about a year and two weeks ago?

How can you be mad at someone who appears in a picture like that, even if they do engage in nuclear sabre-rattling? How? I have no idea.

You deserved to die, Kim Jong-Il, though I’m not sure if the world will be a better place with your fat, Swiss-educated son in charge*****. But I for one will miss your weird-shaped body and fucking stupid hair.

*Apart from Jeremy Beadle

**Some of the world, at least

***”Violently raped for nearly two decades”

****I’m always that guy

***** No comment

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Beep.. beep… beep…. beep….. beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

The warning signs were all there – I’ve seen enough episodes of Casualty to know what’s going to happen. If you’re dicking about, someone, at some point, is going to fall through a conservatory/get hit by some cars/otherwise get fooked up.

There I was, dicking about with files I shouldn’t have been dicking about with on this very laptop. I was trying to do something, and doing something required… well, dicking about. Did I mention I was dicking about?

Safe to say, the wrong thing was moved, the even wronger thing was replaced and the wrongest thing was deleted. One restart later and this – my workhorse, my rock – was dead. Flatlined. DOA. An ex-laptop. Shuffled off this mortal (computer) coil.

But why dial 999 when you can perform surgery at home? That’s something I’ve always lived by. Well, no – that’s a lie. I’ve not always lived by it at all. In fact, nobody should live by that philosophy as it’s stupid.

Oh wait – it was a hasty metaphor for the ‘surgery’ I was to perform on my cadaver of a lappy. The hands were washed (“grounded”). The surgical tools removed from their sterilising chamber (“found my toolkit”). Theatre was in session.

And might I say, I’m damn good at this stuff. Everything electrical I’ve tried to fix in my life has ended up fixed. Everything I’ve tried to upgrade or otherwise augment has worked.

Well, aside from that one pad that just wouldn’t stay fixed, but shut up. It was a tosser that deserved to die (“be sold on eBay”) anyway.

It’s had me thinking I might just start breaking things on purpose so I have to sit around tinkering and fixing them.

Though that would be really fricking stupid, so I probably won’t.

Anyway, the computer lives again. Even if it is some kind of unholy zombieputer held together with voodoo and hope. LIVE! LIIIIIIVE!

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Amy Winehouse: dead idiot, no beard

Ugh, I suppose I have to do something about the Winehouse death and subsequent reaction then. After all, I crave the reactionary hits like the 600-odd I got from doing something about Ryan Dunn (check out the killer headline, maaan!).

First of all, I am not an unsympathetic, uncaring person. Far from it. I just tend not to let myself fall into the trap of glossing over Real Life in favour of emotionally-charged outbursty reactions. Well, I try not to, at least. I’ll admit it is callous, in a way, but I still think it’s the right way to think about things – life goes on, things don’t stop and start at the convenience of one or two events and all that gubbins. It’s all part of this cosmic ride, maaan.

So when I start Tweeting frantically, trying to keep pace with the sympathetic outpourings of everyone else in the world in the wake of Amy Winehouse’s death, it isn’t to be deliberately contrary. It isn’t to show how super-cool and edgy I am by going against the majority opinion. It’s just to say my piece and – admittedly – is a bit of an emotionally-charged reaction, just of another kind.

But the fact that 90+ innocent lives taken away for no reason can instantly be forgotten in the wake of a known junkie – who has been slowly killing herself very much in the public eye for years now – finally dying is… well, it annoys me. It’s not a case of ‘one or the other’, and people are obviously allowed to react in whatever way they see fit, but there are just things that irk me. One of which is the word ‘tragedy’. Perspective, please. It’s all I ask.

Was she hounded by the media into this behaviour? Maybe. Constant scrutiny, having all of your life put out there and shown to the public, whatever you’re doing, puts a serious mental strain on you. We all know she tried to stop with the drugs – her friends and family will surely have helped and it is horrible to know these people now live with the knowledge nothing they could do helped in the end. It is a bad thing, yes.

But it isn’t a tragedy. Unless it turns out otherwise – which it might – it would appear to be the result of self-inflicted…ness. For all intents and purposes, she killed herself.

It’s sad, but I have little sympathy.

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I just want to tell you both, good luck. We’re all counting on you.

I have mentioned in the past my distinct love for Leslie Nielsen, so it wasn’t exactly the best morning today when I awoke to learn of his death. Here’s the video of that joke, seeing as I apparently didn’t link it last time. It was the funniest joke ever written before he died, and it’s still the funniest now.

Anyway, I was a little downhearted this morning – something that has only happened after a handful of celebrity deaths, as I couldn’t give two shits about most of them – when I saw this on Reddit:

Safe to say, it’s one of the funniest, warmest and most spontaneous tributes to a person I’ve ever seen. It’s made me love that site even more than I already do. Click it to make it bigger, and if you know what it’s on about then I think we’ll get along just fine.

While his output was questionable at times, there’s no denying the effect the Canadian had on my formative years. Granted, he won’t have even had a hand in writing the vast majority – if not all – of the jokes, but he’s intrinsically linked in my mind to having the body of a god under his slightly-flabby looking exterior, to the reams of deadpan one liners and to generally just being one of those people I wanted to hug. There aren’t many of those around, and it seems they’re getting less by the day.

I could go on, but there’s little else left to say. He wasn’t a legendary comedian – he was just a fucking brilliant comic actor. But if that’s all you ever were, it’s a damn good impression to leave on the world.

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The day papier mache head-based comedy died

Frank Sidebottom did not have a huge impact on my life.  If I were to claim he did, I would just be a grief-stalking nonsense-spouter of the highest order. One of those people who claims he was best mates with someone/listened to all their music/rated them as an actor just because they’re now dead. No, the impact Sidebottom had on my life was minimal – it was there, but it was minimal. I was aware of the man from a young age, I heard a couple of his songs, I forgot he existed through the nineties and most of the noughties, then he popped up on VideoGaiden and I remembered again. From that point, he would pop up in my head, reminding me of how you can be genuinely, wonderfully silly and not be written off by idiots at large as ‘wacky’ or ‘for students’. But, truth be told, that’s about all the impact he had on my life.

So why am I really rather sad that he died yesterday? I don’t give two shits about when celebrities pop their clogs – at least, not above a basic, human level. They’re people I don’t know, dying. That’s it. The only time in recent memory a famous person has died and it had a real effect on me was Kurt Vonnegut, a few years ago (I had to go for a sit down upstairs. That was fucking sad). So why has a man I never really paid too much heed to while he was alive managed to make me a bit glum by dying? I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s just because there’s one less truly original, shit-in-a-good-way, entertaining, happy, papier mache-headed idiots out there. Which means there are now none. The species is extinct. That’s always something to be sad about.

Oh, and read this for a better account of him.

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My dog was better than your dog

I have a dead dog. She did a dead just before Christmas 2003, meaning I can quote another dead family member in my Granddad and say “what a Christmas!” Though the thing there is he was writing on a piece of his bomber he had kept after hacking his way out of it, as it had just crashed during the Second World War (that’s an odd sentence – it didn’t crash during the entirety of WWII, as that would be a ridiculously long crash. You get the point. Shut up). So anyway, the point there was it’s not really comparable.

My reason for saying it is clearly more necessary. Obviously.

Anyway, my dog was called Krissy, and was a cross-breed between a something and a something else. We never actually knew. She was a fat bastard, and while she often claimed it was a genetic thing it was actually because – quite literally – the only food she didn’t eat was lettuce. In fact, she ate much more than just food, what with her being a dog and all. Nature’s scrubbers. I think horse shit was something of a delicacy to the little wanker.

People often claim dogs are intelligent, as they can recognise commands, use phones, build Hadron Colliders and other such nonsense. Well, I think my dog must have been retarded. We used to take her for walks in Creighton Woods in the town where I grew up – on one such walk we encountered an abandoned den clearly made by some local kids/vagabonds. In the middle of the discarded paraphernalia was a decent-sized section of what I can only describe as rigging (think pirate ships if you don’t know what I’m on about) on the floor. Now, my dog was inquisitive – she probably thought there were pies somewhere around – so she trotted around looking for something to gorge on. No sooner had she began the food quest that she found herself tangled by the legs in this rigging (think pirate ships if you don’t know what I’m on about) with a dumbfounded look on her face. If dogs are capable of looking dumbfounded. A swift lifted rescue occurred, obviously needing four men to carry the chunky bugger, and we set off to explore more of the verdant surroundings.

Not five minutes later, the dog was missing. A bit of a look around and a few calls of her name later we found her, back tangled in the rigging (think pirate ships if you don’t know what I’m on about) with a thoroughly perplexed look on her face. This happened an additional two times before she finally learned to stop getting caught in the rigging (think pirate ships if you don’t know what I’m on about) with a stupefied look on her face, as it really annoyed us. Later that same day she dug up a cat that was buried in a vertical-facing death-pose (think pirate shi… oh wait). Seriously – the thing was buried vertically and when she pulled it out of the ground it looked like the thing was jumping straight up, out of the gates of hell.

This is why dogs are amazing, yes, but it’s why my dog was better than every other dog in the world. That’s not even mentioning the time she decided that the stick she would pick up – while my brother and I were walking on a path just wide enough for the both of us – would be a whole branch. Then she decided to gallop down the path from behind us, past us. That dog was a complete, total and utter remmer of the highest order. She was also utterly hilarious and an absolute joy from the day we got her to the day she decided to stop functioning as a living being. VERDICT: 10/10

I have no idea why this came about. I suppose it’s the risk you take when you say you’ll write something every day. I saw someone with a dog earlier, it gets me reminiscing. Yes, it’s about as dull as listening to someone recount their dreams, but SHUT UP.

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