The Nork Corps (or: not)

This warning, please heed: if you’re hoping to read a nice poem wot’s sweetness and light

Then please bugger off (*winky-wink, polite cough*) because this one’s all saucy (and shite).

You put up with my rants and my rambles all day and you know my position on celery

And a film I adore (might have said so before— ‘sgot a cop who’s a tad Peter Wellery)

I could waffle away, go all Joyce, Hemingway—sit reflecting, respecting the muse

But the posts that you buggers engage with the most? Whenever there’s mention of boobs

I’ve been known to immerse in the beauty of verse but I want all DEM LIKEYS, godfuckit

So forget all the beats and the metery treats and the rhymes ’bout the guy from Nantucket

Me, I love the profound but you want big and round—or just perfectly pert in your palmie

Whether perky or droopy, you’re truly boob-groupies—my titular orb-lovin’ army

But I’m sorry to say: I must put them away, coz I bring a new thing to the table

And although it ain’t boobies, it’s still rather rude— full of sauce (well, of course) for appraisal:

It is better, I s’pose, than the complexest prose, or yakkin’ all day ’bout the weather

I should like to discuss why we kick up a fuss about waxing (or not) regions nether.

So what can I say about hairy va-jays—or clean-shaven, if that is your thang?

Come on, let us know: are you raring to go with a baldy or bushy poontang?

Do you like ’em all neat, those wee curtains of meat—or straight out of a seventies porno?

For maybe your ex had the bushiest sex (because shaving would leave her all raw, no?)

(At this point I digress, for I have to confess that I just used my pettiest hate

When I called it a ‘sex’ which is truly pathecks: yucky yoof-misms I do not rate

But when crowbarring rhymes into quest’nable lines, the bar is already quite low

So dear reader, acquit: forgive werds-wot-are-shit; ‘ave a fag, ‘ave a laff, let it go)

Back to flaps: if you’re ginge, do you have a red minge—or d’ya whizz off the hairs as they sprout?

If you have a blonde head but yer pyabs are bright red, you must dye one or t’other, no doubt?

Once de-furred, d’ya partake of a merkin while werkin’ cold rooms in the nude, unattired?

If you grow back the fluff does it warm up yer muff? Do ya suffer hairs on the inside?

There is no way of knowin’ a hair is ingrowin’ until it presents as a spot

Oh, it’s terrible, that, when there’s lumps on yer twat (so I’ve heard – not a problem I’ve got)

But be sure not to blunder your wonder down under, just keep it the way you prefer:

Matching collars and cuffs, fuss your puss till you must; go for satin or covered with fur

Just listen up, girls: many virtues have curls on yer beautiful vertical smiles;

Although bald is good too; you do YOU with yer foo — coz vaginas are always in style.

You might think me disgustin’ but I’m only discussin’ — I loves me some natural pewbs . . .

. . . And believe it or not this all started up top with a thought that I had about bewbs.

If a Book…

If a book can drive people to build gold-dripping brick palaces in honour of an imperceptible sky-dweller
Or to melt wax and drape hatred over glistening, Christening altars
Then consider the power of fiction.
If a book can create and nurture mass hysteria for thousands of years, then consider the power of fiction.

If a book can drive people to kill or to keep:
To keep and punish and sacrifice
To sacrifice and ostracise and bully and excommunicate
If a book can invent such fantastic characters that even the inconceivable becomes believable
Then consider the power of fiction.

There, saints on pages say women must be silent
There, invented words would have you devote yourself to destruction
where wives and slaves submit to men
—Men who must not love one another—
Here, sacrifice your children unto this scripture:
And they saw that it was blood.

And still, its readers read—feeding hate
And still, they root for its main character
Through an aperture of death
Death masquerading as life
And still, its readers explain away horror as metaphor

And interpret and manipulate evil into excuses:

Free will and mysterious ways.
So today, embrace the power of fiction.
Embrace the power of fiction and keep writing.
Keep writing your own book
And perhaps one day
Writers shall unwrite The Bible.

You, Myself, and I

Today, my little grammar muffins (whatever they are), we shall be looking at Me vs I, and when to do the Re-flex-flex-flex-flex. Sort of.

I had this exact ‘do at this exact time. Just so you know.

So, which is it —and me, or —and I?

In accordance with fings-they-lerned-me-at-school and that one ~~electrocution~~ elocution lesson I attended back in the summer of 1986 (the idea of which, if you know me AT ALL, is fucking hilarious), you and I sounds posh. It just does. And if you choose it over you and me, no matter the context, it gives the impression that you have a bit of dosh to throw about. THAT’S WHAT THEY TOLD ME.

They were wrong. To prove my point, here’s a pair of toffs off the telly, who’ve *volunteered to help us out with a little exercise. I’m paying them in booze.

*Pic stolen wholesale from Google.

A pair of toffs off the telly.

Now, Mr. Toff might be inclined to caption the pic thus: “My wife and I.” (They’re pictured here at Balmoral’s annual squirrel-tickling festival, I’m told.) But he’d be wrong. It’s “My wife and me.” Why? Well, you wouldn’t say, “Here’s a photo of I,” would you?

I mean, just listen to how SILLY this is: “Here’s I at the Mountbattens’ monthly frog-rogering contest.” See?

So yeah —it’s “Fuckface and me.”

It is, of course, fine to use I in the grammatically correct manner:

“Edgar and I are planning a spiffing party. Would you like to join us?”

Or:

“My husband and I shall be going dogging in New Brighton this evening, if you’re out and about.”

If you bump Edgar off, and do away with the husband, you’re left with: “I am having a dinner party and then I shall be going dogging.” See? Perfect sense.

Disclaimer: the above example is in no way autobiographical. Ahem.

Them wot write songs have a lot to answer for, too; Geri Halliwell’s dreadful “Lift me Up” springs to mind:

Watch the first light kiss the New World
It’s a wonder, baby like you and I
All the colours of the rainbow
Going somewhere, baby like you and I

AAAARRRRRGH! *Shouts “You and ME” at the car radio twenty years ago.*

How to remember the thing about the thing: cover up the “you and” bit. If the sentence still makes sense, you’re good. Using the same vintage spice example as above: “It’s a wonder, baby, like I” sounds shite, whereas “It’s a wonder, baby, like me” still sounds shite. But at least it’s correct.

More food for thinky thoughtstuff: is the title Withnail and I correct? Well, it depends what’s implicit, and what floats your own paticular proverbial. If it’s “Here’s a bunch of shit that Withnail and I got up to…” then it makes complete sense. But if it’s “The story of Withnail and I,” then it’s incorrect, and should be “Withnail and Me.” You could argue a case for either, really, if you had enough time and/or the inclination. Which I don’t. But here’s some braingrub anywho:

Withnail and I went on holiday by mistake.

or:

Withnail and me went on holiday by mistake.

withnail-and-i-robot

Yeah. It’s I. DO NOT MESS WITH THE ‘NAIL.

Speaking of dinner parties, someone once asked me, by text, “would you like to come to Steve and I’s on Saturday?” I couldn’t answer, what with the BLEEDING EYES ’n’ all. True story.

Now, allow me to introduce … myself.

Myself/yourself/himself/herself/themselves … yadda yadda … are all reflexive pronouns; i.e. a pronoun [me/you/him/her/them] that reflects right back at … itself. Like a reflection, really. But not really.

If you’re looking for a swanky explanation, WIKI says: “In general linguistics, a reflexive pronoun, sometimes simply called a reflexive, is an anaphoric pronoun that must be coreferential with another nominal (its antecedent) within the same clause.” Ain’t nobody got time for that (at this point, you might want to refer to the ‘double negatives’ blog I haven’t written yet).

“I don’t like myself” or “I’m going to reward myself for finally finishing that 120,000 word novel after seventeen years” are fine.

Using “Gordon Ramsey and myself are going to cook you a meal” is bollocks. Gordon wouldn’t allow anyone else in his kitchen. Unless, of course, they were conveniently placed just so he could swear at them. But why ELSE is it bollocks?

Well, you wouldn’t say “Myself are going to cook you a meal”, would you? You’d say “I am…” Same as before, folks —same as before. Cover up the first bit and see if it still makes sense.

Office-speak has a lot to answer for *sigh* …

Alright, alright —I’ll wrap it up. Off y’go. Be sure to tune in to the next instalment: *THE GAPING MAW OF A PLETHORA OF A MYRIAD OF CREATIVE WRITING CLASSES. WITH TENTACLES.

*I might come up with a better title before then.

Slight Monsterage Is To Be Expected

The monsters from our past continue to fuck with us as they’ve made sure to leave us with a charming visual, which plays on a loop inside the screen of our minds. But they only stay inside your head if you LET THEM. They have no power unless you fear them….and the circle must be broken.

Monster once begat monster begat monster, with the abused becoming the abusers. But some people DO break free: they’re the gods amongst us.

This: Two brothers. One beat his wife, the other did not.

The first was asked “why do you hit your wife”?…and he replied “because I saw my father beat up on my Mom”.

His sibling was asked, “why DON’T you hit your wife”? – and he gave the same answer.

Don’t let them win.

Look under the bed and see that they’re not there.

Climb ONTO that bed…..

…..and sleep.

Nothing can harm you.

Wilfred’s Men

A poet’s shattered soul reacts to crumpled men with words intact

Recalling lies as glory folds, one verse – yet many stories told:

Our Wilfred said they’d cursed through sludge, towards their distant rest they’d trudged

And Wilfred’s men had lost their boots but limped on, blind, deaf to the hoots

There, Wilfred saw a hanging face – as death came to his writing-place

So we could read -at every jolt- of gargled blood to our revolt

If Wilfred knew – if he could see -dead men survived by poetry

What would he say – and would he be surprised his words revered by me?

Adored by age, revered by youth, for hitherto-unspoken truth.

If then were now – if he were here, would Wilfred to the world endear?

Or is it likelier he’d see: the sale of arms, cash weaponry?

And then the fight to stop it all, this great divide as countries fall?

Perhaps for now, hypocrisy – humanity’s mobocracy:

And as he rhymes of this or that, he’d write: Manus Manum Lavat.

ROLLERCOASTER

If I read one more lazy-arse review using “juxtaposition” in the wrong context when they actually meant “contrast”, or describing a film as a ROLLERCOASTER of a ride, I SWEAR I am going to stalk the person responsible, stick ’em on the Big Dipper on repeat for six hours and then see how their face likes being juxtaposed with my fist.

We Have Such Sights To Show You

So – you’re a movie buff. Me too. But for those of you still in the filmfreak closet, here’s a way you can quote your favourite lines ALL….DAY….LONG….and nobody need ever know (unless you want them to – I assure you, it’s a great pulling technique if you want to gather yourself a nice, smart movie geek).

Technically, any flick with a half-decent script is a quotemine, so this list is compiled with that in mind; to show you just how easy it is. Quotes you didn’t know you knew, lines from films that are usually overlooked when it comes to “Best Quote” lists. It’s especially thigh-slappingly amusing trying to crowbar a line into a conversation at work. With a customer. On the telephone. And yes – I have. Many times.

So fly, fly – engage in a little of your own project mayhem that only the true enthusiast will espy. Let’s explore how we can take oft-overlooked statements and make them work for us (Work it, baby, work it…)

Ah….We have such sights to show you….

The Terminator (1984)

Why it’s so quotable – with a Duel-like chase, the story becomes all the more sinister as Arnie’s Terminator takes on the voice of Sarah Connor’s mother to track her down at the sleazy motel. You too can be equally menacing if you need to know where someone lives:

“Give me your address there”.

OR…..run from that spider crawling towards you, at the same time maniacally exclaiming:

Why me? Why does it want me?

When trying to haggle at a market or garage sale, turn to whoever is next to you and tell them, referring to the vendor:

It can’t be bargained with, it can’t be reasoned with.

(Using this one makes you truly awesome.)

This will all stand you in good stead for the day you need to borrow someone’s clothes, boots, and motorcycle.

Withnail and I (1987)

Why it’s so quotable- the greatness of the nothingness of every single thing that happens in this movie owes itself to Bruce Robinson’s uber-screenplay. He provides us with a truly juicy superabundance of utterances which can be easily levered into everyday speak.

The finest hangover line available to humanity?

I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Feeling a little paranoid in a new office or hotel room?

You’re not leaving me in here alone. Those are the kind of windows faces look in at.

When you experience poor service at a local establishment, it’s super-fun to yell:

We are multimillionaires. We shall buy this place and fire you immediately.

(Of course, they won’t believe you, but your pure awesomeness makes that a moot point).

When you’ve haggled with the vendor at the aforementioned garage sale, you do of course need to tell them they’re out of their mind. But it only makes sense when you get down to two quid.

Fight Club (1999)

Why it’s so quotable – With their screenplay, the deities that are Chuck Palahniuk and Jim Uhls make things secretly obvious. If you’re anything like me, by the end of the movie your head is spinning with the incredible dialogue you’ve just heard.

To console someone about a break-up:

It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.

If you want a slap in the chops, wait until someone you know gives birth to a girl and utter:

We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.

(The mere danger/stupidity value of using this quote means you’ll receive extra cool points on your awesomeness chart).

It’s the ideal movie for paraphrasing purposes, too, where you can create endless phrases inspired by Chuck and Jim: “I am Philip’s sense of utter rejection” or “I am Maria’s total lack of responsibility”. I am Linda’s lack of fuck-giving. That kind of stuff.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)

Why it’s so quotable – it’s fucking Ferris fucking Bueller’s fucking Day Off. That is all.

Customer service agents leaving you frustrated on the telephone? So many choices: but to start with you could ask them

Do you know anything?

(Or simply tell them to stick their finger up their butt).

Worried about being fired for using Terminator quotes on the telephone? Talk about your boss thus:

If I’m gonna get busted, it is not gonna be by a guy like that.

And if you are clever enough to crowbar:

I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nosed punk leave my cheese out in the wind

into a real life situation, then I may need to marry you a little bit.

This will imbue a sense of greater purpose and confidence: If you need to call across the office to your colleague Grace, you KNOW how it must be done.

Beetlejuice (1988)

Why it’s so quotable – If you ever wanted to prove yourself strange and unusual, this film gives you the chance.

Not into the person trying to pull you down the local boozer? Refuse to tell them your name:

If I tell you, you’ll tell your friends…

..and go on to say it’d make your life Hell, ok? A living hell. (Disclaimer: at this juncture, if they get it and laugh hysterically, you may have to have a rethink – they might just be The One).

Viewing a new house? Not too keen? Tell the estate agent:

Oh look! An indoor outhouse.

Of course, there is the one you HAVE to use whenever you try on a new outfit:

This might be a good look for me.

Extra points for saying it after sucking on some helium.

Dave (1993)

Why it’s so quotable – because it rocks. Simple.

Excellent insults abound:

You’re LINT! You’re a FLEA! You’re a BLIP!

Try on a sweater vest and complain in your best Voice of Ving that it makes your neck look too thick.

Take the kids on a museum trip just so you can say:

We’re walking, we’re walking…and we’re stopping.

(This could only be made cooler if Frank Langella were to bustle past).

Be Dave. Because Dave is just wonderful. Fess up to everything:

I take full responsibility for each one of my illegal actions.

If you know anyone called Ellen (or with the initials LN), you do of course have to thank them for doing this at every available opportunity. It’s the law.

Robocop (1987)

Why it’s so quotable – because it’s essentially a comic lavishly portrayed by real people. It’s also one of the finest movies ever made.

Assure your friend that their upcoming surgery will be a success:

They’ll fix you. They fix everything.

Made a typo on a document? As you delete it, you MUST say out loud:

Now it’s time to erase that mistake.

(Come on! Say it with me!)

There ARE a lot more quotes from this movie…..I can feel them… but I can’t remember them.

Austin Powers(s) – (1997 et seq)

Why it’s so quotable – because it’s such a well-rounded collection of Mmmmmovies.

Don’t go for the obvious YEAH BABY nonsense. But if you’re about to go for surgery to correct your vision, you HAVE to do air quotes when you say LASER otherwise it’s just a wasted opportunity.

Channel Scott Evil wherever possible, with as many, like, whatevers as you can. And always refer to the French language as Paris talk. It’s like, cool.

Being that you’ll often hear people using the boring old in-a-nutshell phrase, you can liven things up. You know how – get on your back and be you, in a nutshell.

As you do this, laugh inwardly at your own genius, point to someone and tell them that’s where they are. They’re there.

Casablanca (1942)

Why it’s so quotable – it’s set in a gin joint. There’s booze.

Enter a casino and declare that you are:

..shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!

Next time someone calls you a piss-head, explain that that makes you a citizen of the world.

Confuse the enemy: explain that somehow,

just because you despise me, you are the only one I trust.

You could also tell someone that you are looking at them, kid, but this may just cause confusion.

School for Scoundrels (1960)

Why it’s so quotable – watch it. Just watch it.

Tell someone you’ve been married a long time. Perhaps almost…

Be utterly charming and patronising at the same time, translating everything on the menu. Even if it’s in English.

Point to some tomatoes in your local store, and state what they are.

If you’re being berated for trying to get one over on someone, explain that:

he who is not one up, is one down.

Speaking of one-upmanship, get one over on your local garage by convincing them that your piss-poor excuse for a heap-of-crap car is actually a rare automotive gem.

See? It’s easy when you know how. I’m off for a game of golf now, but it’s snowing. So I’ll use red balls.

Why I Love Fucking

There’s poetry and beauty to be found in the unlikeliest of places. Perhaps even at the precise moment you’re advised to get fucked or told to fuck off. I especially adore performances by afuckingmazing actors whose cussin’ is nothing short of endearing. Expletive infixation – it’s comfuckingpletely up my street.

All derivatives of His Esteemed Effness can be (parental advisory) music to the ears, but ONLY when used correctly. Whether or not you choose to use the hard G is up to you…. there’s a place for all in the kingdom of fuck. It’s character-building—quite literally.

When a writer has a person to create, it’s important to know how they feel and therefore how they SPEAK. In building those characters, something as simple as the inclusion or omission of the hard G can say so much and make for a solid foundation. When scribin’ a Scouser, or creating a Cockney, you need to FUCKIN’ LEAVE IT OUT. For the posh or pedantic, make the G as hard as you can. Emphasis by inflection is then up to your actor’s understanding of the invented individual they’re about to inhabit.

The greatest fucking characters? Well…..the gorgeously observed Deb Morgan would have you fuck her twice on Sundays, or even sideways at times. You could shit a brick and fuck her with it, but not one single such utterance makes you respect her any less. These words are so beautifully written—and performed—that they are simply audible proof of a soul on display as Jennifer Carpenter sings the swearsome lyrics she’s given.

Then there’s Bruce Robinson’s fucking BEAUTIFUL ART. With such judicious swearing, he gives life to nothingness, breathing oxygen right into the heart of the mundane. “Of COURSE he’s the fucking farmer” is the ONLY way Marwood could have expressed his sopping wet frustration to Withnail at that muddy juncture.

Chuck Palahniuk and Jim Uhls welcome you into their Fight Club, as long as you obey and welcome this rule: they KNOW their characters and will hurl them at your screen until you do too. They make Marla siiing as she informs us that “My God, I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school.” Tyler Durden looks like you wanna look, fucks like you wanna fuck, and through this, we learn that he is “smart, capable, and most importantly…. free in all the ways that you are not.”

Martin McDonagh – what else can I say but FUCK ME, THAT MAN CAN FUCKING WRITE. When you stay over with him In Bruges, he paints colourful mirth as Ken retracts that bit about Harry’s cunt fucking kids. But if ever swearing were appropriate, it’s here, as the perfect antithesis for that Christmas tree somewhere in London, with a bunch of presents underneath it which will never be opened.

McDonagh does it again a few years later with Seven Psychopaths, where he takes you on this journey via his screenplay-within-a-screenplay, and makes you wonder if you can change the title from Seven Psychopaths to The Seven Lesbians Who Are All Disabled And Have Overcome All Their … Shit And Are Really Nice to Everybody And Two of Them Are Black. I can’t analyse how he does it, I don’t WANNA. I just know that he does.

Stephen Adly Guirgis takes on Judas Iscariot’s Last Days, via a courtroom full of street-talkers. It starts beautifully, before a single word, as a woman emerges from her past. It’s funny in parts, too. with some good Little Bits.

Saint Monica is a nag, whose ass gets results, but on first read, I’m not sure whether she gets those results in spite of or BECAUSE of her many mothafuckahs. It’s not only Saint Mon, there are others whose street language just doesn’t scan. I’m told (by very reliable sources) that this is one AMAZESOME play in the flesh. Perhaps those characters leap from page-to-stage, so I’d love to see it FUH REALZ and be proven the fuck wrong.

Where the FUCK does fuck come from in the first place? How did he evolve into this perfect tool for ANGER and PASSION? Fuck’s etymology isn’t certain; he has a plethora of apocryphal acronyms. He wasn’t derived from Fornication Under Consent of the King, nor did he come from Forced Unnatural Carnal Knowledge. That’s all bollocks, stuff of (Urban) Legend. Fuck has his own Wiki page, (check it out) with some far more probable word-birthdom, from the Dutch fokken (to breed, to beget); dialectal Norwegian fukka (to copulate), and dialectal Swedish focka (to strike, to copulate).

However he was conceived, I love Fuck like he was one of my own, and will continue to do so until the day I fucking die.

	Kody L on The Dead Zone
	Drew Norris on SECOND DO NO HARM
	Paulie Jaye on Seeing Red – by CM …
	Let Loose and Lose t… on It’s *You’re Call…
	KNICKERS TO YOU, TOO… on ASKING FOR IT

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