It Would Make The Maxim True.

They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Considering my life over the last few weeks, I think that I must have been a pretty bad boy recently, as I have not had time to stop and reload.

Following on that train of thought, that would also explain why super villains always have master plans – as they are super-wicked (not street slang, just emphasizing how bad they truly are). They are soooo wicked, they must perpetually be busy, as there can be absolutely no rest at all. They are probably also insomniacs, and sleep deprivation can’t be good for the mental state. Probably accounts for some of their crazy, which in turn, makes them more wicked, and so on…that’s one vicious cycle they’ve got there.

Exhibit A: The Vicious Cycle – A Harley Davidson modified with chainsaw blades for wheels, and rotating spikes in all directions. Powered on Dettol, the bike had great mileage, and was remote controlled…and can go from 0 to 100 in less than a craft market.

So yeah, busy busy. That’s why I haven’t posted. (Thank you, QOD my ever faithful motivator) Right now, I’m in a hotel room in Sydney, a lamp shining down on me, a too-big-for-one-person room spread about me, a lovely inner-city view (ie: no view) from my fifth floor balcony, and a whole bunch of stress. Yes, that’s right – I ran away from Melbourne after robbing a bank with my new freeze ray. Not really.

Actually, Zeeds and I almost planned a bank robbery once. It hinged on our belief of how the insurance on the bank worked. We were probably wrong, so it’s a good thing we never committed the robbery. (That’s also probably a good thing) The belief was that a revolving door is technically within the bank’s premises, and so would be covered by any insurance policy. One person would withdraw a large amount in cash (say, a home loan), and go to leave the bank. The other person would attack them whilst in the revolving door, jamming the door with an appropriate tool, beating the withdrawer, and stealing the loot. As the door is jammed, no one from within can prevent the getaway, and as the robbery was technically in the bank, insurance will reimburse the loan…nice plan, huh?

I think the revolving door assumption was very very wrong though…

I went for a walk around the city before. It’s amazing how similar, and yet different this place is to home.
The streets are narrower, and many of them are one way (which according to my taxi driver is “a good thing, good thing”).
The place is dirtier, and much much busier.
I witnessed an intersection with 24 hour convenience stores of the same chain on diagonally opposite corners. The other two corners were a shopping centre and a building “for lease” – cynically I wondered how many 24 hour convenience stores of the same chain one intersection could sustain.
All of the stations here look old. I mean, our city loop is dated, but these places are archaic.
I saw a chinese dragon practicing for something, probably Chinese New Year.
I stopped counting McDonald’s’ because I lost count, there is way too many.
I saw one bottle shop.

Tomorrow I have to work. This could be very interesting. I will be looking respectable, and carrying nothing to protect myself from the hordes. Oooooh dear…

Q: Do You Like Brand Names? Only if they start with “DC” or “Marvel”, but that shows just how extremely dorky I really am.
Song For The Day: "You Will Remember Tonight” by Andrew W.K.

The Greatest Conspiracy Since They Changed The Coke Recipe

What I’m about to share is a terrible, horrific discovery that we made this weekend. When I say we, I’m referring to my partners in crime, Rhycimus Prime and Tabs-ula Rasa. That’s right, if you want to silence the truth, you have to take down all three of us, and I’ll have you know that none of share the same weaknesses. But the word will get out, we will share the truth with the world at large, the people will soon know your deepest, darkest secrets, and there’s NOTHING you can do!

Except kill us and issue counter-statements of a far more insidious nature that completely undermines our attempt at free speech. But that’s just nasty.

I am of course, talking about pop music. But more importantly, the secret code carried in it that has ultimately revealed great secrets and wonders that have been repressed. Through a very subtle network of influence, the secret message has been passed down, fragment by fragment until now we are in a situation to put them all together. Now let me return to the start, so you can see how this all began…

It started innocently enough. Like any other world-shattering event, the day started normally. The sun rose, breakfast was eaten, and then the sky rained blood as the vanguard of Heaven swooped down low. All in all, nothing unusual. So it was that Tabs-ula and Rhycimus began dissecting the meanings of various songs. We found this quite amusing for a long time. It’s amazing what silliness gets into songs.

Some songs are outright lies, whilst others are very informative on their chosen topic. For instance, Phil Collins sang “I can’t dance, I can’t walk, the only thing about me is the way I talk” in the Genesis hit “I Can’t Dance”, which is a blatant lie if anyone has seen the film clip. Then you get the weird, such as “Stairway To Heaven” – there’s absolutely no chance Plant or Palmer actually thought that was a possibility. And this is where the trouble began…

We began to look for the more nonsense-driven songs to have a better laugh, and we tore strips of Huey Lewis, who it has become increasingly evident, knows very little about the world. I present the following as evidence:
”You don’t need money, don’t take fame / Dont need no credit card to ride this train
Its strong and its sudden and its cruel sometimes / But it might just save your life
Thats the power of love”
I put it to you, that if Huey is unaware that trains don’t actually require a credit card to be ridden, he’s probably not the greatest person to be trusting for advice. And he’s pretty vague about the potential of love’s power over all, in that his definitions are ‘maybe’s ‘ or ‘sometimes’. The problem with this is…

Huey’s right.

We looked into it deeper. Love is the most talked about topic, and the one that has the most mystery surrounding it. After a bit of additional thought, we realized that the abovementioned song is the Professor Sauniere in our Da Vinci Code. (this is not to say we found Huey Lewis dead in the Louvre…) The problem is, Huey’s not quite sure about the power itself…but we found it.

(On a tangent, it was also found that according to Luther Vandross, “The Best Things In Life Are Free”, and as advertising has taught us the simple things in life are often the best, we can deduce that Vandross’ song is all about Corn Flakes. Thus, we can therefore discredit any further input from him.)

By taking a leaf out of Foreigner’s book, I decided “I Wanna Know What Love Is” More investigation yielded the following:

#1. It’s addictive: Bryan Ferry confirms this, as “Love Is The Drug For Him”. We also found that Barry White “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love”, further proving the demand that Love creates in a user. Robert Palmer was also suffering, as he was “Addicted To Love”. The Beatles were also heavily into it, as evidenced by “needing your love – Eight Days A Week”.
#2. It’s expensive: The Beatles also made reference to love’s price by stating you “Can’t Buy Me Love”. Not many artists are brave enough to comment further on the economical standing of Love.
#3. It has substance. John Paul Young stated that “Love Is In The Air”, implying that is currently in an aerosol form. The Darkness later went on record stating they wanted “Love On The Rocks With No Ice”. Whether it exists in multiple states of matter, or it is transmutable is yet to be determined. (The Clovers also possessed “Love Potion No.9”, strengthening both this and point #1.)
#4. It’s trafficked: Matt Munro first broached the subject through “From Russian With Love”, which the Sonics also alluded to with “Have Love With Travel”. John Lennon also reminded us “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away”.

So we’ve now found enough evidence to establish that Love is indeed a drug of value, many forms, and of a very illegal nature. But the question remains, why does Love hold such a strong appeal? What do people get out of it? The answer was found, not in a small chapel in Scotland, but in a track by Jackie Wilson, which was later adopted and brought back by Rita Coolidge, and then again by Harry Huntsberry. The track itself? A deceptively titled “(Your Love Has Lifted Me) Higher And Higher” This continued exposure is a sign that the Underground don’t want us to miss the importance of this track.

Wilson states, with no measure of uncertainty, that Love has the effect of giving the user a vertical lift. There is no denying it, Wilson was giving away the big secret here and now: Love is responsible for the power of flight. Burt Bacharach was dead right – “What The World Needs Now” is indeed love. This also explains the World Wars and ongoing conflicts in the world, whilst we are fighting, we cannot share the love and progress in human evolution. Once this has been surpassed, and love is freely available (the hippies almost got it right, but for the wrong reasons), we will then be in a perfect position to TAKE OVER MARS.


What’s that? You thought I had forgotten? No chance. Mars will be ours yet.

QoD – thanks for the message, I am pleased you think my content is good. I know it’s rubbish, but entertainment is multi-faceted. :)

Q: Who Do You Love? This was an album released by KC and The Sunshine Band in 1978. Title track was track #6.
Song For The Day: "Vampire Love" by Ash

The Next Album To Go Number One With A Bullet

(why this album is going to be a violent one, I cannot say, but chances are it’s all the fault of youth culture)

The first part of today’s post is a response to a comment I received. I don’t normally respond to these. This is mostly due to the lack of them, and if I were to set a precedent by responding, I would then be thoroughly let down when there was a lack of missives requiring replies…

(guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip)

So. The first letter for today comes from “Nonetheless, you may call me Queen” who wrote...

“Am I missing a joke? Am I really, really stoopid? Or have you made a boo boo?? ‘We spell it 007, we say double-oh seven, therefore it should be spelt 007?’”

No dear Queen, you are not missing the joke. This is actually the result of two things:

1. an interesting formatting quirk when moving text from MS Word to Blogspot, and
2. me noticing it, and dismissing it to see if anyone else sees it.

I originally typed ‘oo7’ is the correct spelling, but Blogspot corrected that.

Youth Culture 2, thenick 0.

By bringing said boo-boo to my attention, you are proving that at least one person is reading these rambles, and digesting the contents in more than a cursory manner. I appreciate that, and you should find a complete horse in your letterbox as a token of my gratitude.

But the real thrust of today’s rant, is a concept album unlike any you have ever heard. Ideally, this would be a live concert, as that’s the only way to truly experience these people, but as the logistics would be phenomenally hard to work, I’ll settle for a studio album. What is the concept, I hear you type? (I have good ideas – better than Youth Culture, take that!) It’s simple: Cover Music.

Cover music is a very potent, very powerful style of music. What you essentially do, is take an already great song, with it’s own unique ideas or hooks, and then you build on this by adding your own distinct “stamp” – something that identifies you, but also weaves that identification into the song…

A good example of this is “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” – Bob Dylan wrote this, and it has been covered a billion times, but Guns ‘N’ Roses version is one of the most renowned or recognized. (have a look for the song on wikipedia – the list of coveree’s is damn impressive)

I have a real appreciation for cover music – I once wrote a lengthy post about why it intrigues me so, my collection and what I get a kick out of, but that’s a horse of a different colour to burn a bridge once we’ve crossed it and cracked eggs in one basket.

But this Concept Album won’t be just any cover music…noooo, this will be classic rock, pop and well, anything else, covered by some of the most distinctive voices of our generation. People such as: Patrick Stewart, Michael Caine, Christopher Walken, Sean Connery, and more.

Just imagine! Sean Connery singing “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls! Christopher Walken out-creeping Johnny Cash in a disturbing rendition of “When The Man Comes Around” and wrap the whole thing up with a powerful upbeat revitalization of “Ice Ice Baby” by none other than Bob Dylan.



Well, I thought it was a good idea.

Q: What are you wearing? Grey pants, no shirt, no shoes. I look like a Caucasian mid-fight Bruce Lee.
Song For The Day: “Somebody To Love” (orig. Jefferson Airplane) by Jim Carrey

2007 – The Year Of The Secret Agent

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned (ie: not updated for almost a week)”

Say one “Our Father”, five “Hail Mary’s” and one “Glory Be”…

I was originally going to label this the year of the Cheese (big in-joke, but one that is pervading every facet of my life…like a cheesy virus), but after mentioning this to Rhycimus Prime, he looked at me, perplexed and said “The Year Of The Secret Agent”. Of course! I cried, slapping my thigh with my face, how could I have missed it.
But later, as I drove home, I was thinking. We call him “Double-Oh Seven”, but we write it “007”. Note the issue? See it? It’s right there!
See it?
Stupid-head…
We’re spelling his name WRONG!!!! We should be spelling it “oo7”. How can we possibly have been insulting such a dangerous person for so long?! You see, he’ll get us all yet…I’ll just tell him I thought we should have stuck with the cheese.

“Forgive me father, for I have cheesed (ie: made cheesy puns)”

Say one “Our Gouda”, five “Hail Mozarella’s” and one “Glory Edam”...


SO yeah. Back. Here I am before thee. I’ve had a rollicking week, learnt stuff, did stuff, broke stuff (yeah go on, tell us something new, thenick). But really, no, I did. It was just after midnight on New Year’s Eve, I was looking over the balcony and staring into the distance, watching as the brightly sparking fireworks launched haphazardly, but oh-so energetically into the sky, finally reaching their true flight path only to erupt into a completely self-destructive incandescent array…and a thought struck me.

I’m a firework.

No, really, hear me out. I come out with this insane ideas, and I am temporarily convinced of the complete and total genius of the plan. During that time, I forge ahead, my confidence and willpower being the perfect weapons to defeat the depressing forces of reality and common-sense (I hate those guys). Hatred is a sin.

“Forgive me father, for I have hated very reasonable and rational elements of the human psyche”

Say one “Abracadabra”, five “Hip-hop Hoorays” and one “Lordy Lordy”…

So yeah, off I go, leaving a trail of burning gunpowder, magnesium, barium and other flickering debris that is my genius (it deteriorates rapidly – what a metaphor!), and then just as I’m reaching the apex, the summit of my mad plans…BANG! And down I fall…
Down…
Down…
Down…
Burnt out. A husk of ruined cardboard and trace elements that is potentially bushfire-starting material.

And that’s how my plans go.

SO! My New Year’s Resolutions:

#1 Get Fit: Self-explanatory, but ties in closely with #4
#2 Do Something Creative: Kind of like being a firework…but without the explosion (and having somewhere to actually fly towards, I guess. Metaphors suck)
#3 Learn Something New Everyday: They aren’t exactly rocket-science, are they…
#4 Declare War On Mars: Read the last few posts – this will fall together. See, I decided they are not to be messed with, we need to be ready for them. I’m storing all kinds of weaponry for the inevitable war. I have colds, flus, microwaves mounted on cars (think about it…directional evaporative weaponry! VWAP!) I’m ready Mars. Oh yes. Let’s take this outside and settle it like bipedal carbon-based life-forms.

Q: What did you want to be when you were a kid? I wanted to be a scientist. Lord knows why, I'm crap at maths and cooking.
Song For The Day: "Down With The Sickness" by Richard CHEESE

An Open Letter To The Inhabitants Of Mars

I made a post last week regarding how the existence of flowing water on Mars could very potentially be the first sign of alien invasion, and then digressed completely onto a path of thought that would rationalise the link between these two concepts. Today's post is an apology to the Denizens Of Mars (hereforth referred to as "DOM"), and even to all other species of the universe, which I may have offended by gross generalisation.

It wasn't my assumption that the Martians want to enslave us and remove our brains that would have been offensive, rather that I reached that conclusion based on an assumption of the thought processes and deductive reasoning. To say I am an expert in cultural diversity would be an outright lie, and so this is where the offence would be. I do not understand, and should not ever have made the impression of understanding the way Martians think.

The problem we have, is that I was basing the mental journey our roving Martian took in accordance with the logic and decision calls that I would make. I am a representative of the human race, (hereforth referred to as "ROTHR") even if I am of a smaller minority of said race. My template is NOT suitable at all to judge Martian reactions. We'd need someone of a far closer psychological profile in order to even have a chance of second guessing the Martian. Someone weird…someone not like the rest of us…

First one that springs to mind is PeeWee Herman.

The problem with PeeWee Herman (hereforth referred to as "PWH") is that he is certifiably insane, and thus there is no way to determine his comparison to an average human let alone a potentially war-like Martian. So the problem we have, Martians, is that no one down here, understands you up there. We made the effort of sending Voyager 2 out there with a plaque on it giving you a run down on who we are, what we look like, and what music was en vogue a couple of decades back, and then we dumped some remote-controlled junk on your planet...WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!?!?! WE'VE GIVEN YOU A HEAD-START! COME ON! DAMMIT! MEET US HALF WAY HERE!

...

You know what? I think I just got an insight into Martian thinking. They understand us. They read the probe, they've been watching our TV shows and listening to our radio programs. (they haven't seen our movies because we are old-fashioned)They've been observing from their hidden cities, and studying us.

They are watching us, and laughing.

A bunch of pale-skinned, weak-boned smarmy bastards (further from the sun, lighter gravity, not all derogatory), sitting up there on their red planet, their civilizations hidden completely from view, and sniggering at us. They've probably pulled apart the Rover, chuckling at the use of metals and batteries, and levers and cogs. That's it. I don't CARE how they think anymore.

MARTIANS! You come down here, you're in trouble. We've got nuclear weapons, tanks, the birdflu, we've got lasers, smart bombs, FREAKIN' SUPERMAN! Come on, come mess with us, we've got ninja's, pirates and people with planks of wood, just waiting to smack you on your shiny grey heads.
BRING

IT
ON.

To the people of Earth: if we are subsequently invaded due to my inflammatory remarks above, I apologise, and will be first in line with a plank of wood.

Q: Do you know anyone who is engaged? Yes I do. An ex-girlfriend to a complete idiot. The universe is laughing.
Song For The Day: "Junkfood Heaven" by The Forty-Fives

Then Gandalf The Grey, And Gandalf The White....

This time of the year has a profound impact on my lifestyle. Out of habit and general intent, I avoid shopping at the “regular” times as dictated by the world of retial. This is mostly because I can’t stand the shuffling masses that are “consumers”. I think this is really just a conveniently naïve label for the zombie hordes that we have trapped in the social roach motels that are shopping malls, but I’m cynical/paranoid/silly.

I got home late, due to having to go to the shops. I got many of the items I required, I made more purchases than intended, and I saw a man eat his own head. It was that type of an evening. The long drive home (10 minutes) left me exhausted, and mentally drained. There were sights and sounds I experienced that I cannot verify the existence of. Was I hallucinating? Had I transcended a barrier to another layer of reality? Why did everyone sound like Ringo Starr?

I woke up the house, stumbled in sideways, (like in a Crowded House song) and was immediately accosted by a bright yellow-costumed ninja who hurled a sharp, barbed harpoon at my head, demanding I get over there. I dived to the side, my shopping spilling everywhere. The couch broke my momentum, and just in time as a bladed-hat wearing shaolin monk leapt out of hiding, and launched an abusive-sounding tirade at the ninja. He made a few martial-looking gestures, then leapt at the ninja. As the began to fight, the floor shook and we were soon joined by a four-armed giant, bellowing a mighty warcry as he beat his chest with all four tightly clenched fists. There was a brief blaze of light, and then Thor, Captain America, Wolverine and Spider-man appeared at the top of the stairs, before marching off to find some Ultron robots to beat up. A bald, pale-looking sorcerer crept out from behind the TV a glowing green skull in one hand, my copy of “Army Of Darkness” in the other. He was about to ask me something (probably regarding which ending the DVD had), when a red-overall wearing plumber jumped on his head, and caused him to shrink down to half size. He retaliated by throwing glowing green bolts around. Then Batman arrived and unleashed a swarm of trained killer bats on the kombatants, and a warzone photographer took snaps of the whole thing, whilst Master Chief cooked up some toast. Meanwhile a crowbar-wielding physicist was trying to solve a puzzle revolving around three different projectors to create a single image, as Optimus Prime tried to find a parking space only to be thwarted by Marcus Fenix rolling up in his borrowed junker.




I think I have to lay off the video games a bit.

Q: What’s Your New Year’s Resolution? To build a reputation, but this time built on fact.
Song For The Day: “I Predict A Riot” by Kaiser Chiefs

Free Stuff = Best Quality Ever

I’m not one to look for every possible freebie out there. In fact, I’m more of the opinion that if I don’t need something, I will actually decline (after all, there are only so many free cartons of flavoured milk that a non-milk drinker can accept from the promo people before enough is truly enough).

But there are times when this pragmatic model of thinking realises it’s shoelaces are untied, the moment after it’s already stepped on the escalator of rational thinking. The moment of clarity is quickly followed by a panicked selfish endeavour with a result of negligible worth. The following is one of those shoe-lace eating situations.

Over the last year I had a running battle with a certain computer company who shall remain nameless (APPLE), and I experienced the full gamut of their customer service capabilities. In less diplomatic language, they blocked me at every turn and refused to help me out when their products, which I had purchased and had full documentation for, were not just faulty, but repeatedly and ridiculously flawed. This, combined with my own background in customer service (and the full knowledge of the purpose of said role) has left me a touch jaded regarding these people of help.

So I decided to cause some mischief.

Being a great proponent of two minute noodles, I keep a few packs on hand for those midnight snacks that must be prepared in 120 seconds or less, but recently I found that Fantastic noodles (name or description? You decide…) have bulk packs, which make my midnight snacking even easier. The only problem is they come without flavour sachets, those minute packets of salt that make my noodles resemble the taste of faux-chicken (certainly doesn’t taste like any chicken I’ve eaten, and I’ve eaten many chickens). I thought on this – how can I get more flavour sachets? It’s a reasonable question, I thought, so I used Dirk Gently logic, and asked a child.

thenick: Child, how can I get more noodle flavour sachets?

Child: Mum keeps them in a drawer in the kitchen.

(thenick furiously scribbles this down)

thenick: Any other way?

Child: ask Maggi.

So I did.

Fristly, I found I must have secreted a few flavour sachets away when I was cooking noodles for other purposes (bonus points), and then I got on the Maggi website. I found their contact us link, and I contacted them. I explained my situation, and asked if there was indeed any other way to get those silver bags of taste and salt. After hitting send, I boasted of my bravado and marched around, browsing the website with impunity. By chance I came across the “Other Products” page, and discovered Maggi Stock powder. At this point, the panicky coward in my mind screamed at me – the customer service people are just going to tell me to use this. I won’t get any more sachets!!! Bravery stood up, grabbed Cowardice by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth chattered. “Be reasonable, man! Give them time…”

They replied.
Cowardice was right – they told me to use stock powder.

FOILED.

Q: Whose the last person you spoke on the phone to? Alistair from I.T. He fixed my mistakes.
Song For The Day: “Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner” by Warren Zevon