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Delivery Driver Required. IMMEDIATE START…

11 Jun

Due to a SUDDEN BEREAVEMENT within our close-knit group of drivers, a vacancy exists for a DRIVER.

THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH THE TRUCK AT ALL AND THE BRAKES WORK PERFECTLY IT HAS BEEN INSPECTED BY EVERYBODY AND NOTHING IS WRONG IT ALSO HAS A NEW DRIVERS SEAT AND WINDSHIELD.

If you would like to work for a boss who writes everything in CAPITAL LETTERS and is semi-literate but still feels it is necessary to micro-manage his secretary’s advertising copy then please give us a call.

The successful applicant will be HARD WORKING AND LOYAL AND 100% TRUSTWORTHY AND LOYAL. GOOD TEAMWORKER, PUNCTUAL AND NOT DRIVE LIKE A NUTTER.

Pay will be commensurate with experience. The successful candidate will be given a trial period of three weeks, after which they will probably turn down the job because it is very difficult for most people to get on with Dave who runs the company and his brother Mad Eric who services the trucks. Most people leave on day three.

YOU WILL BE HARD WORKING AND LOYAL AND USED TO HARD WORK. LOYALTY WILL BE REWARDED. YOU WILL BE PAID FAIRLY FOR A FULL DAY’S WORK.

Please contact Marjory (me) in the first instance on the number below.

046TRUCK

 

Could a woman have done this…? Men are back on the map…!

6 Jun

In a video clip that cannot fail to stir emotions, two men become immediate icons for their gender and define manhood to the world. Men are back on the map.

Modern scientific research increasingly shows us men to be pretty crap at most things when compared to women doing the same tasks.

Contemporary media frequently depicts males as being listless goofs who are only there to carry shopping bags and occasionally hit someone for being an irritant.

Using nothing more than an electric drill and without writing a Risk Management document to share with a department, two men do what their sex is most famous for: they destroy something that is bad and avoid getting killed during the process.

Here, in a selfless show of astonishing bravery, two unknown men put ‘manhood’ right back on the map in a single act of stunning beauty.

I write with tears in my eyes as I herald a new dawn for anyone who habitually walks around with the plumbing on the outside of their body and who can’t remember their kid’s birthday.

Watch and learn…

(Note: at the very end of the video you will see other men appearing from their hiding places. These men are from the ancient tribes of Eesamateofmine and Letsburnsomethingnext. )

US Secret Service admits it ‘has no sense of humor’…

5 Jun

According to the BBC, the US Secret Service has put out an open tender for someone to invent a program that can ‘detect sarcasm and false positives’.

Secret Service...? The coolest cats on the block. And I ain't talkin' Celsius or town planning...

Secret Service…? The coolest cats on the block. And I ain’t talkin’ Celsius or town planning…

The tender documents are available here .

An un-named source at the Secret Service explained:

“…As usual, we were listening in to American citizens talking to people in communist-infiltrated European countries like Britain, France, Italy…you know – the usual low-life death-bed states.

“We overheard a conversation between Mrs Amelia Krutz of Spokane and her so-called friend in Vienna. Vienna is right on the border with Communist Russia so we naturally zoomed in and went to Black Alert.

“Mrs Krutz was heard to say ‘…he had the biggest weapon I’ve ever seen! He screwed me to the bed and then took a cab to the White House. I pity the next girl who gets in his way…!’

“We evacuated the White House, told all females under the age of eighteen to stay indoors and we then sent a carpenter to Mrs Amelia Krutz’s house, fearing the worst. I just can’t understand these people. She was most ungrateful.”

When asked what kind of program the US Secret Service needed, the source replied:

“Something small and black in a shiny case with some discreet brushed carbon fiber edging. It has to look the part.”

The successful code writer who comes up with the program that the US Secret Service buys will be rewarded handsomely. Six weeks later, they shall be found in a local park, having apparently fallen asleep under a tree that was being cut down.

 

 

The FBI, marijuana and young hackers: Morality hides under the table.

22 May

“..the best ones smoke weed, so we can’t use ’em…”

 

008hacker

 

The director of the FBI, James Comey, has reportedly told the Wall Street Journal that he may have to review the prohibition on drug-taking among his workforce because he cannot employ the best of the best when it comes to hackers.

At first glance, this comment may seem almost comical. Indeed, Comey is now back-pedalling furiously and saying it was meant as a joke. But it may still be a truth spoken in jest.

The FBI does not employ people who have used drugs in the last three years. The FBI wants to recruit hackers. So, they recruited a load of hackers who haven’t used drugs in the last three years. You can guess from Comey’s words how well it all worked out. Now, the FBI wants the ones who are trousered, minced, absolutely off their face on skunk – because the hackers the FBI currently have are not as good.

Can you imagine how the FBI hackers who are about to be fired feel? There you are in your navy blue skirt or your Walmart charcoal pants. You parked your car perfectly in the car park, neither too far to the left nor right. Suddenly, a security guard pulls your chair away and marches you up to the human resources department.

A woman you have never met then hands you an envelope with a letter of reference and tells you that they have done all they can to find an alternative position for you within the FBI but to no avail. Then, she nods to the security guard who walks you out to the car park.

As you pass your old desk, you see that it is now occupied by an eighteen year old who has his slammed Vans resting on your immaculate Apple and is taking a selfie on his iPhone.

You are toast.

This hacker does more in four hours than you did in three months.

You find the Hudson River and you jump into it.

 

The Fantastic Dilemma…?

It would seem reasonable that our offices of high authority and power do not employ habitual drug takers. Drug taking is both illegal and begs questions about the competence of a worker to do their job properly. But what happens if you are trying to arrest criminals who hide behind the tightest web security? The best help may come from those deep inside the business we call ‘code writing’ (if it is legal) or  ‘hacking’ (if it is illegal). These people often smoke joints and eat pizza.

The top hackers often take drugs. I mean, would you really leave a message on the FBI’s server at Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington saying: “Love the suits you guys wear!”  if you were sober and law-abiding? Besides, hacking is a long game that stretches your concentration and intelligence over many straight hours. The USAAF pump Speed into their fighter pilots so why can’t a hacker stock up on some weed and Ben & Jerry’s?

Perhaps James Comey just got sick and tired of having his weekly email to his staff persistently replaced by a picture of a lol-cat and that print of Bob Marley smoking a joint. He’s out for revenge. Book the kid. Think laterally.

015

Which brings us neatly to…

If you are a right-leaning law-abiding citizen, then you probably believe that the FBI go around all the top universities and pick out the brightest code writers and sit them down in the back of the black Suburban and say:

‘Forget Pfizer. Come and work for us.’

If you are a left-leaning law abiding citizen, then you know damn well that the FBI stake out a sixteen year old as he or she hacks into their headmaster’s bank account – the one that pays for the dwarf to whip him – and they sit him or her down in the front room with their parents and say:

‘Forget McDonald’s. Come and work for us.’

‘I can’t. I take drugs.’

(mother faints)

‘Damn.’

 

Can you spot the massive…er…half-truth in all this?

Just because the FBI cannot themselves employ drug-taking hackers doesn’t mean that they don’t use their services.

The FBI contract out this kind of work to a bunch of private firms that do employ drug-taking hackers. Those firms then invoice the FBI for ‘code writing services and program viability analysis’. Everybody is happy.

 

Then, in May 2014, the FBI notice that, whereas the FBI all drive around in four year old Chevrolets, these firms that go by the name of Yellow Penguin Computing, Zed Labz, Drelb Inc. – all drive three month old Ferraris.

 

When your in-laws are outlaws…

James Comey, Director of the FBI cannot have that. It sticks in his craw. Yet he cannot employ drug takers. He needs a solution. He dips his toe into the waters of popular opinion. He says he might have to look a the situation.

If he is successful, then any government department or agency may soon be allowed to employ drug-takers as well.

There will soon be no difference whatsoever between the moral values of society, outlaws and the elite who rule them both. Just like the end of alcohol Prohibition, the questions over morality will melt away. We all know that the current prohibition of marijuana serves no public good. It merely boosts the wealth of dealers – the bootleggers of old.

But the FBI cannot employ the top hackers unless marijuana is legalised across the whole of the US. It is a nationwide agency. Worse still – until that day, the barrier between what is legal and what is illegal becomes arbitrary and selective. Existing laws already flatly ignore criminality within crime-fighting agencies.

You were stopped for speeding by a cop who you believe was off his face on Nepalese black at the time?  Good luck with the appeal. You believe that your local police are paid off by drug dealers? Bring us the evidence and we’ll pay for your headstone.

That is not a good forest for society to venture into. Either marijuana is legal or it is not.

However, could it just be that James B Comey, director of the FBI, is in fact merely lending his weight to the campaign to legalise marijuana?

012

 

 

 

 

 

Freelance Writer Required

9 May

Chance of a lifetime for the right writer…!

 

Giraffe Books are looking for an enthusiastic and loyal freelance writer to join their award-winning team of enthusiastic freelance and loyal writers.

You will be confident working in an environment of poisonous vitriol. You will have your own extensive list of publishing contacts or else you will say that you have at your first interview.

Since the exciting merger last week between Giraffe Books and Editions Hitler, exciting opportunities for promotion exist within this  new and vibrantly exciting publishing house.

Required Abilities:

♦ Answering phones in our up-scale city-centre offices.

♦ There’s six of them, stacked up. You will answer them all. Are you some kind of communist…?

♦ If I have to tell you how to do your job one more time then you are toast. History.

♦ Dealing confidently with highly demanding executive level visitors and never having a nervous breakdown.

♦ Crisply ironed. I say no more.

 

Desirable Attributes:

♦ Getting over it quickly.

♦ Not EVER mentioning that you are a pretty good writer yourself.

♦ Empty my bin.

 

Giraffe-Hitler promote from within. You will only notice that this is a complete untruth once you are within and realise that you have not been promoted.

Salary is commensurate with experience and qualifications. It works like this:

1) We ask you to tell us your experience and qualifications.

2) You tell us.

3) We tell you that you are pretty much a novice and virtually unemployable.

4) You join us on startlingly crap terms and conditions because you have serious debts and a family to keep.

 

All applications should be made via email to  untermensche@girhitpublications.com

British Economic Development Explained:

23 Apr

To my many faithful readers who live in all parts of this wonderful planet and who occasionally lie awake thinking:

“I’ve had such a great day…but I simply cannot get to sleep because I am not sure how the British economy actually manages to operate in the 21st century”.

Here is a picture of a British pub. it acts as the perfect metaphor to explain:

007englishpub

Key to picture:

Let us imagine that this pub is the ‘British Economy’

The chimney at the top centre and the building below and to the left of it is the basic British Economy.

It was designed and built by many clever people. One day, while on his way in to work, one of the builders found an old wooden ship and thought some of the wood might come in useful. The architect fired him once he saw the result but the accountants gave the builder his job back and promoted him to Chief  Builder In Residence.

It was decided that the economy must expand because the population had increased. The architect designed a large extension with six floors and a spire on top to fit on to the right hand end of the existing pub/British Economy. Work started immediately.One day, while on his way in to work, the builder found an old fireplace complete with chimney stack and thought it might come in useful. The architect fired him once he saw the result but the accountants fired the architect instead and got a new one. They kept hold of the Chief Builder In Residence.

The new architect cancelled the idea of the seven floors and went for just two, with a nice sloping roof made of the finest slate. The accountants were delighted with him but said they had heard rumours that the second floor was a bit dark inside and could a window be put into the nice sloping roof?

The new architect had a word with the Chief Builder In Residence. They both got on very well. They both shared the suspicion that you only survived if you kept the accountants happy and read the contract closely. One day, while on his way in to work, the builder found an old window and thought it might come in useful.

The accountants were delighted. However, they asked the architect if perhaps a second window could be put in as well because the first one, though excellent in many respects, was attracting ridicule?

The architect asked the builder and the builder refused. He pointed out that he had met his contractual obligation since there had never been any mention of multiple windows to him before. The architect explained this to the accountants.

The accountants fired the new architect for negligence and had a meeting with the Chief Builder In Residence. They explained that many more windows and a bigger building were needed because the economy was still expanding. They reminded him that he had been doing very nicely out of this project and they expected him to come up with a solution, especially since all the architects seemed so useless.

The Chief Builder In Residence suggested building a second wing, coming out from the new extension at a right-angle, on two floors.

The accountants laughed and explained that this would be far too expensive. How about just one floor? The Chief Builder In Residence explained that if they only built a single story extension, then the first floor window on the existing building would have its view blocked by the pitched roof of the new extension and also the guttering would be a nightmare to maintain after the first year.

The accountants smiled and reminded him that, as a builder, it was none of his business how the maintenance costs worked out after the building was completed. The Chief Builder In Residence told them he had just about had enough of their smug attitude and they could stick their extension up their inkwells. He had decided to become an electrician, instead. There was more money in being an electrician.

The accountants made a quick drawing of what they wanted and then found a new builder. The new builder built the new single story extension exactly as they wished. The accountants were very pleased. They promoted him to Associate Builder Designate.

As a token of thanks, the new builder told them he’d include a pretty little security camera disguised as a lamp and install it for free on the side of the old, original building. He’d also create a landscaped garden at the front and build a monument in honour of the accountants.

The accountants were delighted.

The Associate Builder Designate installed the cute little security camera disguised as a lamp and went home to bed. When he came back in the morning, somebody had stolen the security camera. He bought another and put it up so that the accountants would not be disappointed. That also disappeared the following night. In desperation he contacted a local electrician to help him sort out the problem.

The electrician visited and suggested mounting a second security lamp just above the little cutesy security camera and said he happened to have one in the back of the van that he had found on his way to work and thought it might come in useful. The Associate Builder Designate was delighted and begged the electrician to start immediately and then send him the bill when he was finished.

The electrician smiled and began to work. Within four minutes he had finished installing a security lamp above the security camera on the side of the original building and so he presented his bill to the Associate Builder Designate.

The Associate Builder Designate was horrified. He explained that the electrician had charged him almost as much for four minutes work as he – the Associate Builder Designate –  earned in a month. The electrician smiled. He asked the Associate Builder Designate what other work he had to do to fulfill his contract to the accountants. The Associate Builder Designate wiped his eyes and explained that he had promised to create a landscaped garden.

All of which brings us to that hanging basket of flowers…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ukraine: Western leaders consider snub to Putin

7 Mar

fist love hate

Roadwax’s Elena Handcart has just sent this report from the Crimean peninsula:

As the RAF Chinook helicopter from Odiham in Hampshire dives through the darkness of the night towards Razdolne, Captain Sandy “Toxvig” Thompson’s tense voice rings out in my headphones.

‘Remember, Elena…not a word about this being an MI6 job and no names. Don’t mention how you got here or who you met. Right?’

I nod in agreement as the muscular physique of Chaz “Minty” Mintoe looms towards me, un-buckles my harness and drags me towards the open hatch.

“Who dares, wins…!” he says and hurls me into the darkness while the Chinook is still thirty feet above sea level. I smile and wave goodbye to one of the most handsome and brave lovers I have ever known. So sad, then, that he could never sustain an erection.

I land roughly on the waves and my unconscious body is dragged towards the shore by the savage riptide.

I awake to find myself lying on a clean yet overpriced bed in the 2-Star Radzolne Holidaya Inska. Smiling back at me from the compact yet modern bathroom area is a face I do not recognise.

‘You do not recognise my face, do you?’ The man smiles and laughs.

I get dressed and leave him. His army clothes – all insignia removed – lie scattered around the room. There is no doubt though, from the way he rubs toothpaste into his genitals, that he is actually elite Russian forces.

The hotel concierge refuses to accept my credit card and instead leads me through the maze of coridoors to the back of the hotel and freedom.

‘ My name is Dmitri and I am pro-Ukraine. Not everyone loves Putin here. Do not mention me or I will be killed.’

I nod my head and thank him.

‘Take the footpath over the mountains and you will arrive in Yalta. It is hard climb. God be with you!’

I walk round the side of the building to the main entrance and get in a taxi.

‘Yalta.’ I say. The ancient Mercedes moves off and I settle back in my seat and watch the tired faces of the tired women as they catch fish with tired faces.

Within minutes, we arrive at a checkpoint and I am arrested.

"Well...THAT was a complete bloody waste of a war."

“Well…THAT was a complete bloody waste of a war.”

Ukraine: Obama Putin Skype call – latest

5 Mar

Roadwax’s very own Elena Handcart sends this report from her covert position in the passenger footwell of Mobile 6, parked on the double yellow lines outside Downing Street:

Obama: Hi

Putin: Privet

Obama: Yes, I got the NSA to check. Its all private.

Putin: I give up…

Obama: You do…? Oh, I am so glad…I er…I applaud your wise and er…

Putin: No…! My stupid friend…privet…is hello in Russian…privet means hello.

Obama: Oh…privet…that sounds like…

Putin: I not have time for this. Where is Merkel…?

Obama: Merkel…? I thought it was just going to be you and me, Vlad…

Merkel: Hi…

Obama: Angela…! What a pleasant surprise…! Vlad and I were just wondering…

Putin: Be quiet, Barack. I’m paying for this call so you listen.

Obama: Oh, now…there’s no need to be like that…

Putin: Cameron…! David Cameron…!

(silence)

Putin: Angela…you have something you wish to say…?

(silence)

Putin: Do not make that face with me, Angela…

(silence, short sniffing sound)

Obama: Angela…don’t let him bully you…he always sounds really angry but…

Merkel: Barack, please will you not talk?

(sound of Putin laughing)

Putin: There…! She is like lioness…! Angela is strong woman, Barack, like Michelle…!

Obama: I think it is time that you stop all this playground nonsense, Putin…it’s getting boring…

Putin: Barack, Angela has something she wants to say…yes, Angela…?

Cameron: …and another bottle of 2009 Dom Perignon…and some pain-killers, okay…?

Putin: Cameron, be quiet you idiot.

Cameron: Goodness…! Didn’t realise we were switched on…well, well…

Obama: Dave, shut up.

Cameron: Absolutely. Sorry.

Putin: Say the words, Angela…

Obama: I shall not stand by idly while Russia…

Putin: Yes you will. Shut up…! Angela…say the words…!

(sigh)

Merkel: I, Angela Merkel, wish to thank Mr Putin for providing my country with 30% of its gas needs.

Putin: There…! That is good, brave woman…like Russian woman…! You hear that, Obama…?

Obama: Aw…c’mon, you know you forced her to say that…

Putin: Angela…Angela…tell my stupid friend…

Merkel: I, Angela Merkel wish to deny the vicious capitalist slur that I have been forced to say this.

Putin: Obama…see…? I give you another lesson in diplomacy, yes…?

Obama: Hardly…

Cameron: Oh, great batting, Barack…! Top man…!

Obama: Shut the fuck up.

Cameron: Right. Sorry…

Putin: Cameron…

(silence)

Putin: Cameron…Angela is good East European woman. Do you understand…?

Cameron: Not really. She wasn’t slow in voting with her feet and jumping over the wall, was she…?

Merkel: David, what car do you drive…?

Cameron: BMW…and very good it is, too…

Merkel: Exactly…so please, David, sit down before you try and think. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.

Cameron: Well I think that’s rather rude if you don’t mind me saying…

Putin: I do. Do not speak anymore unless I call your name.

Obama: I suppose the Jaguar is with the mechanic…in Mumbai…

Cameron: Oh, you bloody turn-coat…! Well, I’m not licking Putin’s arse. You go ahead…

Merkel: Stop talking, you imbecile…!

Obama: Cameron, you are out of your league…shut up and listen…

Putin: There…my stupid friend is telling you good advice, Cameron…listen…

Cameron: Fine…

Putin: Now…Obama, I want you to get Kerry to wear a dress in public tomorrow….and make-up…

(sound of Cameron laughing)

Merkel: What is so funny about wearing a dress, Cameron…?

(silence)

Putin: Cameron…answer Frau Merkel..

Cameron: …oh, really…this is ridiculous Vladimir…I mean, come on…

Obama: Goin’ in…! (laughs)

Putin: Cameron…you have many Russian tax exiles in London, yes…?

Cameron: Bloody right! Jobs a good ‘un…! Osborne has got a hard on like he’s on Viagra

Putin: Exactly…you have taken all the gangsters and all their money out of my country…yes…?

Cameron: Nearly all…still got room for a few thousand more and we’re working on that…

(sound of champagne cork popping)

Merkel: You brain-dead moron…

Putin: Shushh, Angela…let me handle this…

Obama: Blue leader down…blue leader down…

Putin: Cameron, listen…are you listening…?

Cameron: …(burp)…yes…

Putin: I want you to keep shouting your big mouth off about how bad I am…yes…?

Cameron: …absley fine by me…shoo…siuuu…shoots me fine… (hiccup)

Merkel: What a knob-cheese…

Obama: Angela…! I’m surprised by you…! Did you really say that…?

Putin: Obama…my idiot friend…take a lesson from Angela, yes…?

Obama: Okay…but I’m not doing that thing with Kerry. That is demeaning…

Putin: Obama, I want you to put lots of American war films on American TV…understand…?

Obama: Don’t quite get it but…fine with me…

Cameron: …jushhh another norm…normal day in ‘merica…total bollocks….

Putin: Shut up.

Cameron: …shorry…mmm…

Merkel: I have to go now. I have my people to think of…

Putin: All of you. You tell me one thing. Like British actor, Ray Winstone…

Cameron: …shafuckin’ goo bloke…is Ray…fuckin’ lovely…good bloke….

Putin: All of you…tell me…Who is the daddy now…?

Obama: What…?

Merkel: Its a BritGrit prison film from 1979. Just say: “you are, Putin”.

Obama: Oh…well…right…you are, Putin…

Merkel: You are, Putin…

Cameron: whooozadaddy nowwww….eh…? Fuckin’ brillian’ line….I’ve taken too many pilshhh…

Putin: Cameron…

Cameron: Yeshhh…?

Putin: Stick fingers down your throat. Make you sick. You feel better soon.

Obama: Total lightweight…eh, Angela…? What a noob…

Merkel: Don’t pretend I am your friend…I have not forgotten NSA…

Putin: I am the daddy….I am the daddy now…!

(line disconnects)

Aside

Ukraine: Obama, Putin phone call – latest:

2 Mar

Ukraine: Obama, Putin phone call – latest:

Roadwax’s newly-promoted Deputy Assistant Head of International Affairs Elena Handcart  sent us this transcript of Barack Obama’s latest phone conversation with Vladimir Putin from her hiding place in the wine cellar at Chatham House, London:

BO: Putin…?

VP: Obama.

BO: What’s up…? You good…?

VP: You call me. This is because you have problem. I do not have problem.

BO: Yeah, yeah…look…you free to talk right now…?

VP: (sound of tiger cub in background)  Wait….ow – shit…Barack…you give me one moment…ow…fuck…!

BO: Sure, no problem…I can call back in five…wow…that scratch looks bad.

VP: You cannot see scratch. We found your camera. Don’t bullshit. Scratch is nothing…(sound of scuffle and gun firing, muffled yelp)…now…what is your problem…?

BO: Daily call. C’mon…you know we have to do this. You okay…?

VP: I look better than you. Michelle hit you again…? She is bad woman. You must control her.

BO: Nice try. Michelle is fine. She doesn’t hit me.

VP: You want I give you picture of Michelle hitting you? You should stand up…be a man…be like Russian man.

BO: You don’t…why do I always get sucked into this…? You don’t have picture of Michelle. C’mon…

VP: Now. I teach you more diplomacy, yes…? This is why you call me. For next lesson. Okay. I teach you.

BO: No. Look, be nice…you don’t need to keep on being like this. Be nice for a moment…

VP: Nice…nice…what is nice…? Always you say word…I teach you nice…

BO: Look…can you please stop putting your military into Ukraine…? It is not good. It is making things bad.

VP: Bad…? What is bad…? Russian military bring peace to Ukraine. Bad is war. Russia ends fighting there.

BO: No, Russia invades Ukraine and starts war. Bad. Ukraine wants peace and freedom.

VP: Yes, my stupid friend. Ukraine people lose fight against fascist terrorists and Russia comes to help them.

BO: Ukraine wants independence…jeezus, Vlad…we’ve gone over this so many times…jeezus…

VP: Russia military brings peace and arrests fascist terrorists who bring down Ukraine government.

BO: Ukraine government was corrupt. The people spoke. They brought it to an end.

VP: The people spoke…? You see news on TV…? You see all those fascist men…?

BO: Okay, okay…yes…there are many fascist men on news but…

VP: Many fascist men on news, yes…! And these men bring down Ukraine. You say that is good…?

BO: No…I just mean…

VP: Europe and world see the fascist men with their fascist banners and you still say Russia is bad…?

BO: No – I…no – Fascism is wrong…you and I both agree that…

VP: Oh. Barack Obama says Fascist men walking with guns in Kiev are heroes…you want that…?…on TV news?

BO: No…I…

VP: Too late…! Too late, my stupid friend…now Fascist men are being shown on TV all over world.

BO: Yes…I know…I’ve seen the TV. But they are not the true voice of the people…you know that.

VP: Of course I do…so I send in Russian military to protect Ukraine people from them.

BO: The Ukraine people want you to stop doing that.

VP: Yes, they do. Like Iraqi people wanted America out. Like Afghani people want you out.

BO: That was different. We were fighting against Islamic extremism…just like you!

VP: Oh…! My stupid friend agrees that America was fighting war against Islam…oh…!

BO: That is not what I said…

VP: I have it now…on tape…you say it.

BO: You know I was not saying that. I was saying against extremist Islamic violence.

VP: Just like Russia. Just like Russia fights extreme Fascism in Ukraine…yes…?

BO: Russia is acting aggressively…Russia is bringing in military and Ukraine is scared.

VP: Scared…scared…of course it is scared…! Military is to make people scared.

BO: Well, that is all I am saying…just turn the volume down a little…okay…?

VP: I send you something…

BO: What…?

VP: You…I send you something…you look at your inbox…

BO: Vladimir…just tone it down…please…that’s all I’m asking you…shit…!

VP: Hahaha…you see picture in inbox…you see Michelle picture…? Hahahaha…!

BO: Motherf…No way… you motherfu….that is photoshopped…no way…!…no way…!

VP: Hahaha…I teach you diplomacy now…you learn diplomacy now…yes…?

BO: That is disgusting…it is completely fake…Vlad, you are a disgrace…

VP: What…? What is so bad…? Is just woman hitting man…! Is not funny…?

BO: Woman hitting man…? No…Vlad…oh…that is not the picture I have been sent.

VP: Not Michelle…? Not Michelle hit you with shovel in vegetable garden…?

BO: definitely not…No Vlad…ugh…that is sick…so sick…

VP: Wait…! Barack, I check my outbox. Wait…wait…(sound of muffled swearing and slap)

BO: Putin, I’m signing off now. You are completely over the line, buddy…

VP: Oh…Barack…this is wrong photo you were sent…It is mistake…big mistake…

BO: Right…I guess Kremlin make big mistake…

VP: No really…it is from export convention in 2003. Bananas are not real and lady is photoshopped…

BO: You are one sick man, Vlad. I feel sorry for you…

VP: No, listen…you destroy photo, yes…? Is mistake. We are friends, yes…? You destroy photo…?

BO: What am I supposed to say to you…? Is this your diplomacy…? Is this how you are…?

VP: No…I am not like this. Is photoshopped. Listen…Barack…listen to me…!

BO: I’m not sure I want to now…Dave, you seen this…? Man…! Eww….!

VP: Barack…! Barack, my friend…! We fight Fascists! We fight Fascists together…!

BO: Um…what…? Dave, show this to Kerry. See what he thinks…

VP: Barack…! Barack…you and me…! We fight Fascists together yes…? We are friends, yes…?

BO: Call me tomorrow, Vlad…will you do that…?

VP: Sure…sure Barack…I’ll…. ( line disconnects)

Kevin Hart and the art of being British.

26 Feb

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A few hours ago, US actor and verbalist Kevin Hart sat down in a BBC television studio in London and ‘did’ an interview, plugging his new film.

In order to ‘do’ one of these promotional interviews, you have to have at least one ‘anchor’ person who ‘does’ the role of asking you the right questions – the ones that allow you to sell your film.

Ideally, two anchors – one male and one female – should ‘do’ the questioning. These ‘anchors’ should always dress like your parents. In fact, TV Anchors are the viewer’s metaphorical parents in an idealistic, slightly off-kilter version of reality on Planet Earth. They are unfeasibly polite, informed, interested and well groomed. Nothing like reality.

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On this occasion, a live breakfast slot in a foreign country and a perfect storm created Television Gold. Sochi Olympic Games…? You have nothing on what happens next. Within 45 seconds, Hart had started demolishing everything in site. Intellectually speaking.

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He completely took the piss out of everyone in the studio – including his management and financial backers.

He destroyed the place.

He killed them all.

He did it ‘live’ and everybody loved him for it.

Here, thanks to Aunty Beeb, is the original footage, still warm. It seems to only have two edit points, so this is pretty much live and without a pause. Please watch it now! I’ll wait here while you do.

Taking The Piss

It is so hard for the British to explain to the wonderful plethora of people living elsewhere in the world what we mean when we talk about ‘taking the piss’. Taking the Mickey, extracting the Michael. Some countries ‘get it’ more easily than others. North Koreans in particular have difficulty with it. Only 35% of North Americans get it. The French? 10% at most. Latvians – 98.3%. Local Police Officer who just pulled you over in your car? .025%. Don’t go there.

Kevin Hart is taking the piss. If you do not see it then it doesn’t matter. If you laugh at his jokes and think that he is funny then that is great. No problem!

But he is.

Hart is described as an actor and ‘comedian’. He has busted his chops on the standup circuit in his own country and he has not been handed a backstage pass to fame. Along the way, he has learned like all standup comedians that his world is actually the world of the Gladiator.

Ideally, this is a point that the audience is unaware of but every standup comedian contemplates only one thing in their quiet moments: Death.

Comedians speak of ‘dying’ on stage. They dream of ‘killing’ their audience. Only one can win.

Kevin Hart makes no secret of his inspiration. Step forward Cosby, Murphy, Chapelle and Rock. That is all fine.

But really – there is something much faster, sharper, sooner, quicker and nastier about Kevin Hart. He is very much a man of his own design and this BBC footage perfectly describes that. He can ‘riff’ and feed off the slightest input but he can do it so fast that, when you re-run the videotape, you still marvel at his sure-footed and lightning fast responses.

This is rapping, finally crossing over into standup. The intonation, the stanzas, the speed of delivery.

In a world where it is now safe to agree that HipHop has become truly multi-cultural and truly a World genre, is Kevin Hart the first ‘verbalist’ to break rap into standup, like a chef cracking an egg into a bowl to make an omelette?

Okay, let’s leave the food analogy to one side. Today, he killed. He became a killer. Count the number of words per minute. Count the separate ideas delivered. Count the punchlines. Measure the total time on air and look at the sheer speed!

Kevin Hart in a black tuxedo, driving a ’65 Aston Martin. Tick box if Insurance Indemnity purchased. Box ticked. Since nobody else is currently standing up to the line, Mr Hart will be happy to serve.

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