I’m fairly comfortable with not being as young as I used to be. I’m even more comfortable being a cantankerous shite of a man, but I haven’t always been. I used to have at least a passing interest in the cultural zeitgeist and such; which, while not an enthusiasm as such, manifested itself in the form of making a token inquiry into what the hip young taste-makers (That is the most singularly disgusting word in the English language. Worse even than such horrible words than “Wartgasm” and “Bloodfart”) were pointing us in the direction of.
This was before I caught on that following a taste-maker, fashionista, or trendsetter was like running at full tilt after an egg that is rolling down a hill towards a sheer drop. And yes that metaphor is solid; you will look stupid running after an egg, the egg has no idea where it is going, and hopefully both of you will fall off the sheer drop while the people who decided against blindly following this egg laugh at you until they piss.
I recently had someone of university age look at me in disbelief and say “OMG (she actually said OMG) you haven’t heard of MGMT?” which as a sentence made me look around in all directions fully expecting to see Leslie Neilsen.
It also brought home to me that I didn’t give SHIT-THE-FIRST about anything this person had to tell me. And with that came the realization that pop culture was no longer aimed at me. There was a new generation, with a new culture, new values and NO DAMN SENSE. I will never forgive this person because with that simple, borderline-gibberish sentence I saw myself for what I was. A slightly more windswept Victor Meldrew with often quite striking hair.
To my credit I found myself completely comfortable with this fairly quickly. It was not long before I took a step back and had a good look at the new generation of NOW and was amused to see that they had no identity. None. Nothing to define them at all apart from their lack of definition. Each and every pissy little clothes-horse looked like a collage of disparate subcultures from the last century or so, seemingly believing that having heard of a bunch of different stuff made them eclectic as opposed to a horrible A.D.D riddled ne’er-do-well who can’t hold a conversation and occasionally dresses like a holiday weekend at Rumpole of the Bailey’s house, as hosted by Buddy Holly. THIS was the generation that had the audacity to make me feel old?
With that in mind, I noticed a new and suitably scorn-worthy trend amongst these little parasites. The Mash-up. For those who haven’t heard of this, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Taking diametrically opposed songs/tv shows/memes/jokes and putting them together, before a self congratulatory circle jerk, presumably.
It’s as awful and as representative of these horrid little human non-events as you would think. (OK, with the exception being Shakira feat. Glenn Danzig; and Thomas the Tank Engine feat. Biggy Smalls. Check if you don’t believe me.) and so naturally I took it upon myself to get in on the act. Not with songs, mind you, but with TV shows and movies, because if you are the sort of person who rather than learning to play actual music, has spent time learning to fuck around with and ruin music that already exists, you are the kind of tumourous growth that art goes to see a special doctor about. End of. And fuck you!
(Ed’s note: Pictures applied comically bad using photo shop!)
5) The Big Lebowski Theory
Jeff “The Dude” Lebowski moves in with Sheldon Cooper. At first all goes well as Sheldon’s OCD-lite habits find their perfect foil in the most relaxed man in the world. He doesn’t care where he sits; he has almost infinite patience as a result of his self medication habits and he tends to like most people, because anything else would require energy best put to use bowling. A series of events, none of which are ‘The Dudes’ fault, cumulate in a Fritz Lang-esque Ealing comedy centred on the increasingly bizarre decisions of a thoroughly munted Sheldon as he resolves to set in motion an Extinction-level event in order to stop Penny apparently turning into a swarm of vultures every five minutes or so.
By the end of the first season, Walter Sobcek has killed 3 people (one of them by accident) and the Dude is UN Secretary General. As for Sheldon Cooper? He lives in that banjaxed lift outside the door to his flat, like the phantom of the opera; if the phantom was scared to touch the walls of a lift, and everyone knew exactly where he was and thought he was an asshole.
As for those other three guys? Well they turn up, but contribute practically nothing. Apart from Wolowitz. Wolowitz gets a bunch of hilarious diseases for being a charmless, lecherous weasel. He also gets fondled by ‘The Jesus’ in a special feature length Christmas episode. Git.
4) Apocalypse Now For Something
Terry Gilliams adaptation of Wierd Al Yankovic’s upcoming novel “Heart of Daftness” sees John Cleese’s aging Captain Willard venturing deep into the silliest reaches of the human psyche following Michael Palin’s gruff Colonel Kurtz around the world as he presents an informative documentary/travelog from each of the more interesting destinations on his journey and gives everyone the lasting impression that he is a thoroughly nice chap indeed
Charlie Sheen will reprise his role as “Charlie Harper” and will absolutely not surf at any point in the movie; while Eric Idle takes on the role of Colonel Kilgore, a role he was, in his own words “Born to Play”
There will also be an accompanying film by Prunella Scales documenting the famously troubled shoot, which features insider information on issues such as Michael Palin neither agreeing to, or knowing anything about his participation in the movie; The infamous tied-together-at-the-wrist-knife-fight between Terrys Jones & Gilliam; The whole “Too Many Helicopters” debacle; and Yankovic’s book not existing in the first place.
Original Soundtrack by George Dawes and the Lighthouse Family.