Less Is More v1.6

Time to take a breather from my hectic every-now-and-then update schedule... no, I'm not running off again! Its only a couple of days until I go home, and I've got loads of essay to do (as you all should know from my LiveJournal entries by now, personal life plug), so I'm not in a creative mood. I've done two-and-a-half essay-length stories, and the sum of about one-and-a-bit essay-length essays, so that leaves... erm... a bit more. Lots of work, y'see.

So rather than actually writing anything myself, I'm going to plug a few cool things you should see on the Internet before you get logged off by dodgy proxy settings. Some of these have been hyped by me since the site was founded, some are on the right of this writing, some are unheard of on these shores. Enjoy...

Toothpaste For Dinner:
The collected drawings of a guy called Drew from Ohio, who refuses to believe in the existance of capital letters. It's not as absurd as a lot of stuff I can find on the Internet, but it varies from topical to trivial to just plain odd. Good stuff.

John and John:
Further proof that if you want something perverted, you get a Dutchie to do it for you. Two guys called John, one sick, the other sicker. Thanks to my guest updater for that one.

The Best Page In The Universe:
Hey kids! Who is the most pissed off guy in the entire Universe? Why, its our friend Maddox. I suggest you read his entire seven-odd years of batshit-furious rantings (lets put it this way, if angy lies on a scale of 1-1o, Yahtzee is about 4-6, Maddox is at least an 8), and you'll see a good deal of truth about the Universe. I disagree with some of what he says, but he probably objects to a hell of a lot more I say, so run with it.

A word of warning: don't hate-mail him, unless it really is worth it. He rips his hate-mail to bits more thoroughly than anyone in the known Universe. You've been warned. Do it from a new and disposable e-mail account, if you must.

Lance and Eskimo:
Including Yahtzee and his works. These guys... enough said, just get over there...

Wikipedia:
Not so much funny, or scathing, this really is the font of all fucking knowledge. It does have everything from Utilitarism, to the Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, and a shedload about demons somewhere. Djesuzz...

SupAdSpam:
From the font of all knowledge to the font of all nonsense...

There! I've always wanted a proper links page, and this is as close as you can get!

Give it twenty minutes from time of posting, and it'll be December First...

On the First Day of Christmas, my true love sent to me, some link from above, wot you see...

I'm not sure I've ever seen this building before, but it came up in a Google image search for Amersham, and who am I to fault it?

OK, quick treat for all of you. No, no new Henry Skull comics, but if you dig Chris and Trilby, Yahtzee's shiny new webcomic, you'll be horrified to see I've mutilated the format, by introducing... skulls! There's also Ringo Starr and a fish who will one day say "Spoon Menace!", so don't sweat...

First of all, you'll want to highlight the end of the last update to read the scores, Bold here means "Make it Black as Fuck". Useless gits...

So anyway.

You've all heard of Babel Fish, right? Translates any sentence you like, very badly?

Ever tried translating: English to German to French to Portugese to English? So you end up with some garbled Engrish?

I did, here's the results...

I like to eat pies. Lots and lots of pies.
becomes:
I can eat cakes shot and lots cakes.

My Aunt Mabel has a very hairy upper lip. Some days, she looks like a walrus.
becomes:
My aunt Mabel has a superior lip very haarige. Some days she seems as a Walrus.

I was talking to my bank manager one day, when he said "Chyld my lad, is that an alien dancing on your head?" He was on acid at the time, I think.
becomes:
J'ai said with my director of bank l'autre day, and said "Chyld my young man, is qu'un foreign that yours head?" ; it dances; He was on l'acide currently it, thinks.

Utilitarianism is a consequentialist theory, based on the idea that an action is morally good, when it provides the greatest pleasure for the greatest number of people.
becomes:
The Utilitarianism is based consequentialist a theory, on l'idée qu'une activity is morally good, if it puts of people bigger pleasure to the disposal for bigger number.

And what if we did it again, this time taking our translations to Dutch to French to Italian to English again?

I can eat cakesschot and partijencakes.

My aunt to Mabel much advanced one lippenhaarige. Some days seem they like walrus.

J'ai has said with my director of bankl'autre days, and "Chyld aforesaid my young man, qu'un is alien who of you head?" ; ; they dances; Currently he has been on l'acide, thinks it.

Utilitarianism consequentialist is based a theory, on l'activité qu'une the moral good l'idée, if people the greatest enjoyment to l'éloignement for the greatest number put.

"Always sees it's the bloody Frenchmen who cause more bigger problems, isn't it?"
"And aren't truly much Dutch improves, for honest being..."

You join us for the second part of my review of the incredible sack of crap film sequal, "Bride of Chucky", about dolls killing people and making bad innuendo. Lets remind us of who's in it, and what's happened so far:

Chucky: Serial killer, soul trapped inside a doll, seeks new body.
Tiffany: Chucky's girlfriend, similar circumstances, wants Chuckys plastic working parts (I'm sorry)
Genric Good Guys: Includes Genric Hot Heroines Chick and her boyfriend, who I shall now call Igor Von Stupid, for the fun of it.
GHHC's Dad: The local chief of police, the foil to the GGG's relationship. Killed by a hail of nails from out plastic pals.
Annoying Cop: Assistant to the above. Killed when Chucky sets his petrol tank on fire.
Fredrick von Jokealot: I think he appeared in the first half, friend of the GGGs, and your genric horror "cheeky jokester boy"

Summery: Dolls brought to life, paid Igor Von Stupid to transport them to the site of Chucky's grave, kill people. GGGs get suspicious of each other, hilarity ensures for the dolls.

Now, the next half.

The GGGs stop off, for little reason, at a 24/7 wedding chapel, and decide to cut out the hassle and get married, as you do on these road trips. The dolls watch from afar, Chucky mocking and Tiffany doing the typical woman's "Oh, its so cute!" Not right for a serial killer, hunny. The entire party ends up in the same room as another bunch of newlyweds, who come off as being slighty obnoxious, and therefore suitable murder material for our plastic mateys.

At this point, with "comedic timing", both our heroes call their mutual friend, Frederick von Jokealot, saying that their spouse is a murderer! Oh teh hilarity, And with cunning cunning, a champagne bottle gets hurled through the glass window above the obnoxious couples' bed, and a blissful fountain of water bed water and blood heads skywards. Quite a novel death, all things considered. Chucky then decides to propose to his missus, and then they fuck. They fuck. The single psudo-virgin in me balked at this point - since when has any doll actually been "anomatically correct" that much?

And of course, the cleaner finds the corpses nect door, and of course, the GGGs, long since accused of multiple murder, have to scarper. And who do they find in their van but Frederick von Jokealot? He talks them out of the idea that they're serial killers, and finds the body of Uncle Nailface just as they conclude they're not murderers. He draws a gun on them (as you do, when looting policeman corpses), and our friend Chucky, concerned his rides going to vanish in a puff of blood, draws his knife and prepares to knife Frederick. He runs in fear of the talking doll, gets hit by a truck, and literally explodes.

Last time I checked, people who get hit by trucks do not explode like they've swallowed some Semtex, they bleed and break bones, but not explode. Suitably petrified, the van full of our friends drives off, leaving a dent and a bloodsmear in a lorry. So its a vanishing corpse too, then?

I'm getting bored of this, so here's a short summery.

Domestic arguement between dolls, lady in the oven, Chucky gets to grave, gets his amulet, tries to get a new body, gets into scrap with now black Tiffany (last time I checked, if you put a doll in the oven, it melted, not turned black), she "dies, Chucky gets trapped in his grave, police come and see the little doll runnning around, drop charges against the GGGs, GHHC shoots doll, the end. Police chief checks the body of Tiffany, who promptly gives birth to a blood-soaked doll-monster, which eats the nost git.

Pah, bother. So, since this is a horror movie sequal, we'll use the Yahtzee Internationally Recognised Review System. Go ratings, as they say.

Fingers In Ears Rating: 2/10
Its a film about talking dolls, luvvy. If I wanted to be frightened by talking dolls, I'd put my little brother in a dress and get him to lie in my bed. Plus, the deaths are more entertaining than scary...

Similarity To Last Film Rating: 7/10
We can but assume that the plot of all the Childs Play films is "Doll comes to life, tries to raise his body, makes a hames of it". Three points knocked off because I haven't actually seen any. Nor do I want to...

Blood And Guts Rating: 6/10
Ten out of ten for simple volumes, minus four because its either ridiculously extravagant (Mr Slitted-Throat), or just ridiculous (Mr Exploding-Corpse)

Get Nekkid And DIE! Rating: 3/10
OK, the couple in the motel are shagging as they die, but apart from that, zilch. Zero.

Hateful Heroes Rating: 9/10
The GGGs annoyed me quite a bit, Frederick Von Jokealot annoyed me a lot, and... well, that was it really. Meh.

Overall Horror Movie Sequel Rating: 5/10
I seem to be rare, in that I found The Shining to be a very boring horror film. Nothing really happened in it, apart from Rotting Old Lady. However, it is as amazing as its supposed to be, compared to this bag of tripe.

Quality Rating: 9%

One-Word Summery: Plastic

It's not very often that I do a review of anything, let alone a horror movie, but I've seen lots while I've been here. Damnit, I've seen more films while I've been at uni, than pretty much half my life at home, so I'm going to do a damned review!

So, Bride of Chucky then.

Some of you (not me) may be aware of the "Child's Play" series, which centered around a serial killer, Charles "Chucky" Lee Ray coming back to life as a doll, murdering people, and trying to get a new body. Most of you will not. Take that piece of exposition and run with it.

So, this is seemingly the fourth film in the series, and left me with a horrenous desire never to see its prequals. As far as simple blood and gore went, only Saw has bettered this film. But Saw had the advantage of a gripping storyline, with twists and turns, and of course, actual frightening bits! Yahtzee has said many times that Freddy Kruegar is a jovial-seeming figure of fun, but compared to a doll in overalls, he's the embodiment of Fear itself. I mean, you have to respect a guy with claws and burns, etc.

But anyway, the film itself. It starts with a policeman emptying a police locker of its contents, and stopping in a carpark. He stops the car, casually looks into the bag... and gets his throat slit. Blood gushes in such rivers as to make the bed in Nightmare on Elm Street 1 look like a paper cut. And you can tell its simple red water too. Then, Vaguely Hot Chick Played By Some Bird Called Jeniffer Tilly, thus named Tiffany cleans off her knife, collects her bag, and scarpers.

She returns to her trailer, as all girlfriends of serial killers do, and

attempts a voodoo ritual to ressurect what turns out to be the Doll of Chucky itself from the grave. however, it does bugger all, so she looks a bit dejected as her present crush, a guy they must have pulled straight out of Cradle of Filth, comes in and demands sex. She chains him to the bed, sticks the doll on his chest, and does a strip-tease, taunting Cradle of Filth guy over how much better a lover her ex, who happens to have been Chucky by no coincidence at all, was than he. Mr Cradle of Filth Guy declares he thinks this is bollocks, upon which the doll decides to get his arse in gear, tears out Cradle of Filth Guy's lip-chain, and smothers him with a pillow. He sits down during this, and has a chat with his long estanged missus, who seems to think this doll wants to marry her. Oh mais non, ma cherie! Chucky's more interested in the killing than the settling down, so in vengence, Jennifer Tilly locks him in a cot with a Wedding Bride Doll and laughs at him.

Never mock the serial killer, dearie, and don't give him a wedding ring you can saw through wooden bars with, because if you do both, he'll drop a toaster in the bath you're washing in, and summon your soul into the doll you've left him with. As you can guess, he does all this, much to her horror, and they both plan to find Chucky's grave, to find some amulet that they need to shift their souls into real human bodies, or some crap.

Y'know, this guy's been resurrected into the same doll four times over now. Surely someone must ahve twigged that they could just do it to a normal body, and be done with it, without the whole digging up the dead thing. But yeah.

Meanwhile, the two token "teens that somehow survive to the end" are getting harrassed by the Token Hot Chicks dad, the chief of police, who doesn't want Token Hot Chick going out with Token Good Guy, who happens to live in the next caravan to Tiffany. They plan to run away, but how? Mysteriously, Token Good Guy's neighbour, Tiffany, offers him a thousand dollars to deliver two dolls to a graveyard. How convenient! He takes the dolls and money, and goes off to pick his missus up.

Meanwhile, Mr Police Chief decides to look inside the van, and plant some weed there. Our dolls aren't happy about this invasion of their privacy, and fill his face full of nails. "Hellraiser", I thought. They then hide him in a trunk, and filch the weed. How they intend to smoke it when they're meltable plastic, I don't know.

So the Token Good Guys drive off, and get stopped by Mr Annoying Policeman, hunting for the pre-placed weed. Completly missing the body, he finds it, and tries to radio his boss, who's currently bleeding all over the van. Our man Chucky isn't having any of this delay, sticks some rag in through the petrol-hole, and lights it. Boom. And while this happens, our Token Couple are getting scared that the other is a murderer.

Tell you what, I'll finish this later this week, OK?

More Henry Skull goodness to tide you over.

Don't worry, more updates are in the pipeline, but this is primetime essay time...

I just saw Chyldio has restarted updating again. So, I need to show my face again here too, I guess.

So, I finally took Cyz' advice and started to write in Dutch, because my songs sounded awkward... So, I started some Dutch songs... They are pretty good. Look for yourself: here.

Now, the only problem is... no one understand them...

My metaphors are too difficult it seems. My word jokes are funny... if you get them, which seems a bit of a problem.

So, please breed some more brain cells, gain some culture sense and get a sense of humour, damn it!
That'll be all.














Oh wait, it might help if you learn Dutch too.

OK, I'm just going to rant over what comes to mind for now because I think all ten of you still reading need to have some reason to come back. Sorry for any spelling mistakes, this is the result of one can of Strongbow, and half an hour wasted on Google. First topic now, my springboard if you will.

Where do those inane forwarded e-mails come from?

You know the ones I mean - a friend sends them to you, you're expected to fill them in, and forward them to your friends. On average, your friends aren't likely to stay friends much longer if you actually forward them on, because they'll be as annoyed as you.

But where do these quizzes actually germinate from?

The only examples I've seen on the Internet were either the 200 questions Yahtzee savaged once, and the several million Heccubus keeps mutilating quietly on his own blog (I'm not telling where, he'll get cross and poke me with spoons). I spent half an hour searching for one I could fob you all off with, and nothing. Except an amusing "are you a geek?" quiz, which was 500 questions long, and would require about six updates to cover.

Do they really germinate from nothing? Does some sad soneofabitch really go "I think I'll send all my friends a list of 100x inane questions (they always come in multiples of 100, don't they?), and tell them to forward said questions, with answers, to all their friends! What fun!" These are the people who belive that the wobbly banner saying "YOU'VE WON $68MILLION! CLICK THIS BANNER WITHIN THREE MINUTES TO CLAIM!" will actually result in a large fortune, and that you really can excite your mate using some amaing pheremone chemical on sale from a hundred different e-mails they've somehow recieved.

That's another thing, spam. If I needed Viagra, I'd go out and get a perscription. If I needed a penis extension, I'd find a plastic surgeon. NOT THAT I DO, MAY I ADD FURTHER TO THAT! It's like regular paper-based spam - gets stuck in the recycling bin as soon as possible, and usually spat on for good measure. Only, while a million Argod leaflets can be simply picked up and stuck in a brown box, the tick box for each e-mail must be ticked, and the "Delete and Block This Crap" must be clicked. Time-wasting, my friend, time-wasting.

Banners are a lesser concern, but still in the same category. Its like large banners plastered on walls - I'll look and bear said advert in mind, not immediatly click it for its crappy wonderments. The only use I've seen for the Google advert banners sweeping Lance and Eskimo and its subsiduraries is hilarious screen-captures in forum posts.

I'm running out of things to say, so I'll grab the first topic to come to hand...


That'll do. I've got 7500 words of essay to write in three weeks. Make of that what you will...


OK, I've run out of things to say.

Breasts cunt fingering blowjobs lesbien naked nudity Olsen twins nipples anal fucking facials.

Hello dirty bastards out for porn. Welcome to my nightmare...

Right, another gripe I have with the music industry is what I am about to rant about today. It afflicates a large swathe of music in this day and age, and can either come out beautifully, or sound, quite literally, like a dog licking its bollocks.

Bad covers, my friends, bad covers.

I was reminded of this horrendous crime against sanity when, reading the soft-soft-softcore pron mag that is FHM, about some dumb blonde with huge tits called Lucie Silvas, and the following sentence preceeding the daft smut they call an interview:

"Fast forward to today, and a brand new album is in the bag (complete with a piano-and-strings version of Metallica's Nothing Else Matters, no less!)..."

I'm assuming by "no less", it means "it could be no less insulting to Metallica, its fans, and humanity in general". Piano and strings? Wasn't that a feature of the original? The fact that there was an orchestra playing along with it? A whole fucking orchestra?!? Kinda beats a piano and a harp.

But please, this is the song metallers get married to. It is a love metal by one of them great heavy metal bands! You do not insult it by daring a - clearly substandard - cover of it!

This was merely the catalyst of my aggrevation, however. It's been going on for years unpunished.
Take this example in case. These stupid muppets are All Saints. They took another of our good mellow songs, in this case "Under The Bridge" by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, made it worse, and took it to Number One in the charts.

This was Antony Kieldis' (is that his surname? Corrections will be rewarded with castration by a spoon) personel summery of his nightmare with heroin, not just him warbling about nothing in particular. It takes a quartret of women who - lets be frank - probably got the gig through the mystic power of blowjob, to steal said highly personal song, mutilate it, to actually get some fame.

Its not just the mellow songs they're filching. I am one of very few people I know who actually likes the White Stripes. Yes, they're being very pretentious with the style and the means of recording (no recording equipment younger than about 50 years old, I think), yes the guitar lines are very simple, and the drum beats more so, but for all that, they're very good. I only didn't go to see them at Reading, because I was still buzzing from magic mushrooms, had just seen Roxy Saint, and was pleasently in shock, needing weed.

I'm thankful for the fact that I didn't, however, as a friend who did see them observed that they were playing a slow and boring version of their fastest and most exciting song "Fell In Love With A Girl". A version spawned by the - oh the suprise - blonde, large-chested idiot on the left.

A Ms Joss Stone, otherwise renowned for relativly tolerable soul singing, had reversed the gender of said song, taken all the goodness out of it, and (I think) made it into a single. For some reason, the Stripes felt this better than their own work, and adopted it. Not only has the song been copied and ruined, but the original has gone down with it. Dark times.

I was sure there were more targets prats like this around, so I consulted my associates on the Chefelf forums for further guidence. Suprise suprise, the most useful gubbins came from long-time plagurised-by-me associate Heccubus.

For a long, long time, the bag of slag we call Britney Spears has been annoying me. Especially with a song much beloved of Little Brother, "I Love Rock And Roll". To me, this would be like George Bush putting on a can-can dancers outfit, appearing on Iraq TV, and singing a song called "I Like Peace, I Don't Want To Kill You All, Please Be My Friend". It's insulting, because its the most un-rocking song in the whole Universe, played by the biggest pop-whore penis-inhaler in the industry.

Even worse, when I find out it's a cover of Joan Jett And The Blackhearts. Having no accses to the original, I only have her official website to run off of. Which doesn't lead me to think her guitars are set on overdrive. However, the fact that anyones songs are being filched by the Speared Slag is offending ehough, by my books.

Lastly, the rare occurance of the other way round - a punk group taking a good pop song and mutilating it. I wouldn't have thought such a thing possible, until I was reminded that Kelly "I DIDN'T eat all the pies!" Osbourne covered Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach", said cover another favourite of the siblings.

I don't care what anyone says - the evil hag only got a record contact, because her father invented heavy metal. And appearences in "The Osbournes" didn't hurt. Have I mentioned that I hate that show with a loathing only matched by my loathing for Ms "I'm NOT a stroppy bitch! NOTNOTNOTNOT!" Osbourne herself? Is another story.

Haven't heard the orignial, don't want to. The cover sucks balls, and I will hear no arguement.

An idea I had a while back isn't so unfeasable - have an unbiased commitee judge every cover that gets put out, and if its bad, send ninjas to kill all those involved in making it.

Go Ninjas!

It's just occured to me that I haven't uploaded a Henry Skull comic in a while. You're probably not wondering how he's doing. Well, here's some more unintersting comicy goodness so you can drive a screwdriver through your temple find out!

OK, so Yahtzee (you all know where Fully Ramblomatic is by now, surely? For gods sake, the man's been in PC magazines! Get your arse over there!) has put up a very nice picture of Jesus with a pint and a joint. Naturally, I neither have Photoshop, nor can I use it, but I'm a dab hand at making pictures with text in Paint and Word, so I have two for YOU!

The first is a road sign leading into the town I currently reside in. I'm counting the days until some shitty picture site like FunnyJunk.com pilfers it, and claims it to be original material...



The next is a little something I thought of knocking up this morning. A trophy, if you will. Steal it if you like, but it's only useful if you were at this year's festival, and actually threw bottles...



That is all.

So, for want of updates...

Today, I'm going to once again plagurise an idea from the wise and... wise Heccubus of Heccubus fame. Today, we have...

Chyld's Detailed Description of A Student Waster's Bedroom.

Forescript: I'm an oddity, in that mine is a double room. Be rest assured that my roommates is exactly the same, only with the boon of being able to see the carpet.



1.) A Poster. A good student waster needs many posters in their room. These can range from music posters (see later), to pictures of Muhammed Ali (on the opposite wall), to humerous ones such as this example. This piece, entitled "Ladies and Gentlemen", is a stereotypical view of the sorts of people a student waster can encounter on his travels through life and lectures on Subjectivity and Relativism.

2.) Mess. A well-trained student waster needs lots of this. Piles of dirty clothes, clean clothes, books, magazines, bottles, drumsticks, headphones, and who knows what else should always be present, except when the cleaner comes round. Then the mess should be relocated underneath the bed, until you get back after Greek Philosophy, where it can be returned to its natural habitat.

3.) Shelves. As long as these are filled to bursting, a student waster has free rein over what to do with these. Mine consist of (in order from top downwards):
Copies of Private Eye, an unused folder, Games Workshop books, magazines taking a break from the delights of the floor.
My army of Dwarfs.
My CDs, a few books (assorted works by Douglas Adams, George Orwell, Issac Assimov, Scott Adams, and a Slipknot biography. Y'know, the usual pretentious muck.), my Space Marine army.

4.) The Desk. This houses several vital aspects of a student wasters life. One is mess, a continuation of item 2. A computer or laptop, wired up to the Internet, is vital, for wasting time with forums, blogs, porn, or little plastic men, as to taste. If need be, you can occasionly use it to do work, although you should keep this to a bare minumum. Try not to start an essay until 36 hours before it is due in. This is the optimal length of time for essay writing.

A phone may be provided. This is exclusivly for making prank calls to other student wasters. DO NOT USE IT FOR PROPER REGULAR PHONE CALLS. This is what your mobile phone is for.

5.) Window. Notice the use of a poster in this window. This shows anyone looking into your room that you are the greatest fan of the subject of the poster in the Universe. I chose Slipknot as my subject matter, but stolen posters for student events are allowed, as is just about anything. Use your imagination.

The window also provides something to stare out of, in lieu of working. A balcony lies beyond the window, this is for smoking cigarettes ot joints. Smoking eithe in your room is acceptable, as the smoke detectors are specially designed to not detect smoke.



6.) Bed. This should not be comfortable. It is designed merely so that you do not pass out drunk on the landings. It also provides emergency storage space in times of need (see point 2).

As demonstrated, it can even be used as an emergency mess generator in itself, although mess should be relocated to the floor before sleeping, as a large cardboard box impairs optimal sleeping practise.

7.) More mess. See point 2.

8.) Bedside table. This also contains mess, and provides storage for marijuana, pennies, spare models, and sometimes underwear.

9.) Wardrobe. Clothes are the main currency of the wardrobe, although the good student waster should keep his best clothes on the floor, for optimal accses. This also stores all the bags you brought your mess up with you, as well as food you can't hide in the fridge, and don't want stolen.

There is also a sink hidden behind the wardrobe. This is primarily for washing hands, shaving, etc, although if you are hiediously desperate, or drunk, or sleepwalkig (as I was), it can be used as an emergency urinal. Considering that there is a toilet on the other side of the facing wall, this shows the desperate measures required to use this function.

OTHER EQUIPMENT NEEDED:

Money. Used for buying alcahol and weed, keeping junk food in stock, squandering on CDs, and occasionly buying textbooks.

See, I do do some updates! Now buy things from my store, before I stop being lazy and update them to make them look nicer, so you have to buy them all over again!

"And if you listen I can't call
And if you jump, you just might fall
And if you shout, I'll only hear you"

U2 - Stay

"She says she loves you,
And you know that can’t be bad,
She says she loves you,
And you know you should be glad."

The Beatles - She Loves You