The Liquid Inspiration Podcast Blog

An open letter to Mark Zuckerberg

2012-01-06T21:13:00.001Z

Dear Mark,

I thought I'd write to you to see how things were going?
You doing ok man? How's the Mrs? I was drunk the other night when a thought occurred to me...

Does anyone ever offer to buy you a pint anymore?

It may seem like an odd question but then, I think you know that most people have little or no idea about what it's like to be a successful millionsquillionaire!
I would presume that when a handsome young thing such as yourself walks into a bar everyone stares and maybe even point at you muttering things like "There's that Zuckerberg kid, I bet he's wearing gold plated underpants, hand smelted* by Coco Chanel. Let's get him to buy US a round!" The bastards!
You know, some people just see you as a walking talking wallet as opposed to a normal bloke with normal everyday issues.
Look Mark. As a man with less than £2 to rub together, I understand that success means much more than merely mundane, monetary mastery.
No no. Success, much like most things in life, is all about context.
People judge people Mark and in your case they are most definitely jealous of your bank manager's happiness. Allow me to pose an example:

I: co-host the world's most popular podcast**. It's 100% self funded and thanks to my esteemed co-host Sir Bromley Daz's producing-by-eye skills, it sounds sweeter than having two pints of chocolate sauce poured over your eardrums.

You: have been a software developer for years, therefore I bet you can type more words per minute than 1000 monkeys with new MacBooks on speed.

I call success buddy! Let's high five!

As proof of how committed I am to celebrating minor successes in life I think now is a great time to light up a Cuban and open an underrated Chicago brewed beer:

But this is the thing bud, people must come at you with a million and one different ideas about how to utilise the Internet for the greater good***, but how many people ask your opinion of say Vancouver's goal stats for last season or your feelings on producing fancy trousers for prudish chickens...
That's right Mark, you heard, trousers for chickens!
Think of the marketing possibilities alone!
I'm sorry Mark, I'm behaving like all those other bastards with their crap ideas****.

Just because you invented Facebook people think that you might give a shit about their ideas that aren't nearly as good as trousers for chickens.

I guess what I wanted you to know was that if you ever wanted a brew and a fucking good swear you are more than welcome to sit in on China's favourite audio pastime, just lend us your chopper every now and then... you know, for beer runs.

Cheers!

C.J

*I did originally type "...hand beaten by Coco Chanel." but that just seemed sexy somehow.

**In China.

***Read as lots and lots of money.

****Even if trousers for chickens is the best idea EVER!

Hello Sir! Good week?

2011-11-11T22:51:00.005Z

Hello friends!

At some point between, or possibly during... there may have been a beer or two involved, recording Sessions 102 and 103 I happened to mention to our super-awesome guest hosts that in the very early days of our show we used to "improve" another podcast by writing emails to the host in correct English. The host of this show is the very same man that introduces your favourite fortnightly beer-fuelled-swear-fest with such catch phrases as:

I have no idea what these guys are talking about half the time,
I think that's part of the charm.

Those boys are foul, they should be ashamed of themselves!

What the fuck is that about?!

You see when this show was nothing but a twinkle in Dazzers eye and a mild cramp in my crotch we used to listen to a podcast produced by the angriest man in the entire world.
A man named Jeckles.
It was his show that was partially responsible for our format, In fact it was his very show that is still responsible for us playing music at the half way point with some delicious droppage just after. When we get fucking email that is...

liquidinspirationpodcast@googlemail.com

Hint.

Anyway, myself and old Brommers used to bombard this chap with solid gold emails on a regular basis right up to and including the very beginnings of your favourite place to be the one and only L.I.P! His tripping and flailing all over well crafted English we had sent in was one of my primary joys in the whole world.

So here's the thing, shortly after recording Session 1 - Canadia myself along with Canadian pals Mrs Corinna Carlson and All Buttered Crumpets and had a chin wag with the man in question about all sorts of shit.
It was a fantastic time I must say. Rather than share the whole (now unobtainable) volume of SBR I have cut merely the call in and the email segment including the regular gold from myself and Dazzer.

All you need to do is simply right click HERE and select "Save Link As..." to download just over thirty minutes of what was a classic hour and twenty minute volume of the regular weekly dose of shitty gold that we had come to expect.

We miss your bile sir. Come on our fucking show!

For the time being, why not enjoy a classic par for the course email I sent in to his show on 15.10.2009. Enjoy:

Hello Sir!

EPIC FAIL OF A WEEK?!?!?!?!?

You should've listened to me and old Dazzer, Surely the mail bag section could've salvaged and "Shtooped" up online?

I'll keep it brief as I am sure you are going to be keen to read out the last two prior emails I have sent you on this weeks show.

I have taken it upon myself to script a unique dramatic play highlighting your technological troubles that assumed and apparently plagued and persistently postponed the prompt and punctual procuring of SBR last week.

Find below a short extract from Act 1 Scene 4 of the play I have titled:

The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark

Act 1, Scene 4, The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark:

Enter JECKLES, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS

*A flourish of trumpets, a light guff, ordnance shot off, within, also a wispa gold is present upon the table*

HORATIO
What does this mean, my lord?

JECKLES
The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
It's most likely a simple case of turn it off at the mains
and i'm sure the only thing the fucker hasn't tried is
learning how to operate OSX... Ha ha... pickled onion
in the lunchbox! Oh yeah and the kettle-drum
and trumpet thus bray out. What the fuck is that about?
The triumph of his pledge.

HORATIO
Is it a custom?

JECKLES
Ay, marry, is't:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
set up, the hard drive is larger than is
normally stock in such models. Cheeses
fucking Christ I have no idea where to even
start trouble shooting this fucking thing...
Service pack two? I thought this was fucking Vista?!
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes,
Do you have a Red Bull spare? This shit is
going to take all fucking night!
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
Where the fuck is ESPN? So one might rant
about Farve and humbly a modest career in and
payment of none for nothing more than ripping
Brett a new one, That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth - wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin--
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
What the fuck Ravens?
To his own scandal.
So there you go.

HORATIO
Look, my lord, it comes!

Enter Ghost

JECKLES
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
What the fuck is that about?!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Jeckles the Geek!
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
Liketh the bloketh in the James Bond films...
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition.
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
So there you go.

HORATIO
I thought you got a cream for that?

JECKLES
SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Ghost beckons Jeckles

HORATIO
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

MARCELLUS
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

HORATIO
No, by no means.

JECKLES
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
I have some editing to do, but i'll follow
this chap about rather than crack on
with the task in hand. That'll waste
some time, then I'll finally get that ten hours
of delicious rest and perhaps awake in the morn
and send some delicious nudes of Kristen Bell to
liquidinspirationpodcast@googlemail.com
For I believe 'tis the Doth Cometh that requests
such debauchery in the first place.

HORATIO
Do not, my lord.

JECKLES
Shut the fuck up Horatio. Privy! I have
some amount of things not once. Not Twice.
Not Thrice not even to the power four..............*fades into background*

HORATIO
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er his base into the sea...

JECKLES
These things are grouped in sixes!
May the gods have mercy!

HORATIO
... as I was saying,
The neighbors have started to call you the
"long haired lover from Liverpool"
I for one have witnessed how the small children
taketh the pisseth out ofeth oneth tieth dyeth...
Touch me... I'm real...

JECKLES
It waves me still.
Go on; I'll follow thee.

MARCELLUS
You shall not go, my lord.

JECKLES
Get yer grubby mits off!!
What are ya? some kinda cunt?
Fuck off!

HORATIO
Be ruled; you shall not go.

JECKLES
My fate cries out,
Don't be such a cunt mate.
I'll show her the Johnny Cash on me Super Bock;
See if she's up for it, alright me old china?
If she's a winner you shall not hear from thee
If it's a no go i'll give ya a bell on the dog alright?
And makes each petty artery in this body.
I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.

Exeunt Ghost and JECKLES

HORATIO
He waxes desperate with imagination.
She's never up for it.

MARCELLUS
She's from the North for a fucking start!.

HORATIO
Have after. To what issue will this come?

MARCELLUS
I'll say! Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

HORATIO
No, i'm pretty sure he got some cream for that.

MARCELLUS
Nay, let's follow him.

HORATIO
Pervert.

Exeunt

(Open Brackets, That's end scene by the way. Close brackets)

I happen to think that this short piece of classic literature sums up our current standing between your good self and technology.

C'mon! YOU CAN DO IT!

Yours

C.J "Meet the new Bard, Same as the old Bard" Hixon

Cheers!

WOLVER WHAT NOW?!

2011-10-15T17:39:00.002+01:00

Oi oi!
As you are all well aware by now, the chaps from the home of fine Internet flatulence (Note - That's a great tag line for a poster! Liquid Inspiration Podcast - Listen for the belches, stay for the bitter anti-Ryan Estes rhetoric" - C.J) took a trip to The Midlands to drop in on two of our favourite peoples Christopher D Bate and Kylie Posnett. We love Chris & Kylie and when Chris was last on the show via Skype he was bloody brilliant! A true gent in every sense of the word. We had known that this was a trip worth making the effort for and we both felt like it was something that really should have happened by now.

However, these guys live pretty far away from our normal recording haunts.
It made the road trip a little trickier than the previous romps around Kent that we've done in the past. Luckily we found and downloaded this handy map as not to get lost:
(Clicky for bigger)

So we packed up the Nissan minge and headed north west to record a show that did not disappoint any of our preconceived notions of awesomeness!
It was a show so bloody good it was too awesome to release as just one session. We've managed so far to bring you all just the very first part of the night spent drinking, laughing, swearing and eating curry (A fucking handsome curry! - C.J) with our pals in the glourious city of Wolverhampton. So, seeing as you are doubtless to be chomping at the proverbial podcasting bit for Session 103 - Chris-mas (Part 2) *SPECIAL* by now you might want to wet your whistle with the video teaser for the aforementioned session below.

We'd like to take this chance to thank once more our gracious guest hosts Chris and Kylie for lending us their time, flat, jokes, DAB radio, zoo based anecdotes and electric frying pan.
You guys fucking rock!

Cheers!

C.J & Daz

How to dick with tourists.

2011-09-17T15:20:00.006+01:00

Oh hi!

I've thought about my book a few times this week.
You know my book? The one I'm writing? No?
I thought everyone knew someone that was writing some old cock or other in the desperate hope that a publisher would pick it up and they'd have to supervise the actors on the film based on aforementioned book which would be made after they've presented a fucking Brit Award or some shit to some talentless twat of a twelve year old pop prodigy.

Oh yes, I'm one of those people.

Surprised?

Well you shouldn't be. I'm one of those people with one exception.

I already have my book written in my head and if it was ever made into a film it would be more mixed up than a can of Vimto wearing a sombrero smack bang in the middle of a seven way hermaphroditic orgy.

I know what you're thinking. It's not the tale of the fizzy drink from Mexico that sought fame and fortune in glitzy Hollywood and fell on hard times. Nope.
It's merely a collection of the most fun you can have whilst being a bit skint, a bit hammered and sometimes, not always, but every now and then, dare I say... a bit horny.

Ooh got your attention now haven't I!

So what the fuck is my book all about? Well if you knew to look in the buried pages of a certain drinky and sweary organisation's website, then you would know that I not only have a title but a planned release date:

Let me show you my workings.

Many years ago in college my buddy Tom showed me something really rather fantastic.
We were in Cambridge at the time and there was a metric shit ton of Japanese tourists roaming the area around Kings College. Understandably so as it is quite a picturesque area of the city centre:

We were walking around between classes discussing everything from what CDs were out that we couldn't afford to what the next progressive step our band Space Monkey should take to make it suck less.
(Interesting side note for listeners, the keyboards in the short lived Space Monkey were supplied by the one and only B Sydes!)
As we passed the front of one of the most prestigious colleges in the world Tom turned to me, pointed at the abundance of Japanese tourists and said

"Look at this lot.
Think for a second how many of
these people speak fluent English.
Watch this!"

He then proceeded to precede the practice of photo-bombing (This was the year 2001 after all!) by walking in the background of videos being taken by Asian families describing their surroundings, then calmly yet loudly stating the kind of paint peeling profanities you would now only be able to hear... well here.

There were quite a few instances of him doing this, the one that really sticks in my mind is the following:

Quite brilliant. In Tom's words: "I just like to think that in many years to come that family will be proudly showing off their 'We went to England' video and someone they know will be able to understand exactly what I've enthusiastically expressed in the background. Yes it's a long game, but one that makes me laugh my arse off..."

...And that dear reader is the point of all of this.
My book will be based on all of those things that cost nothing and yet give so much self satisfaction and no I am not talking about masturbation. Well, with the exception of that one story of when I worked for a popular fast food chain and that French bloke did that certain something to that certain something.

Ooh got your attention again haven't I!

To find out more you'll have to wait seven years and buy it used on Amazon or whatever.

Cheers!

C.J ~~Rowling~~ Hixon

After all, music soothes even the savage beast.

2011-08-21T13:44:00.004+01:00

Wotcha!
I've been thinking a lot about music recently. The topic of conversation has run from the classic questions such as "Beatles or Stones?" to those questions you never really answer truthfully:

"What's your guiltiest pleasure?"

That is a though one to answer. I mean, I've got some real shockers in my CD collection not to mention that one Twisted Sister LP, But where do you draw the line?
Some opinions are that to have a true guilty pleasure you have meet the following criteria:

1) Own at least an albums worth.
2) The artist in question must be timelessly crap with 100% of output being awful.
3) When asked the question: "What's your guiltiest pleasure?" you might be compelled to look at and shuffle your feet, slowly swing your arms and mumble aforementioned artist's name under your breath.

Now I'm not completely convinced that the above is true. For example I own a few singles that I would've named a guilty pleasure but according to the above rules are not as they are only singles. For example I own a copy of "My Own Worst Enemy" By the band Lit and a copy of "Britain Is Shit" / "Fuck the Poor" By the band Selfish Cunt.
For audio-snobbishness® see the picture below:

Are these two items significant? No, in the grand scheme of things they are two singles releases by completely different artists with the intent to cater for completely different demographics.

But then, I've always hated that kind of industry slang.
In my humble opinion both of these releases are aimed at one very important fan...

Me.

You see whatever people say music is still merely a matter of subjectivity, it is, in the truest sense, an art form.
The quiet truth that we all won't 'fess up to is that some records we absolutely adore but for some reason we readily accept, without asking, that others will deem them as total poops on sticks. Why?
If you were to ask me how I personally feel about my own guilty pleasures, I would tell you that I have a few of them. None that I wouldn't mind someone taking a picture of me squinting whilst pressing said records to either side of my head. Does that not, quite instantly make them non-guilty pleasures in that I will publicly share them in glorious .JPG format with the Internet at large? Let's face it, it contradicts rule #3 from the list above at the very least.

During sessions of the home of Internet swearyness you may well hear some of the finest tunes from people we feel are making music in a similar way that we ourselves make the show. Making music because it's fun and different to what people may have heard before.
For example, I have known B-Sydes since 2000:

He's one of my favourite performers, I love his vocal style and I know that a good percentage of what motivates him to travel the country playing shows, recording E.Ps and working out songs is down to a sense of legitimate enjoyment for doing so. How many artists can you really say that about? Do Coldplay or Adele feel the same way now that they're contractually obliged to produce X amount of sales and tours? I don't know, I've never met them.
But I've met Ben and I know that he loves what he does. I couldn't imagine what he would sound like if you took that enjoyment away from him.
Nothing like this I bet:

In Confidence by B-Sydes

I feel it may well be all about how the artist and audience perceive the art itself in question. Again the world's most drunk and sweary podcast is made for two people and two people only. I'm sorry if that sounds selfish but we make it for our own amusement, but could you imagine if we didn't? Let's say we signed up to a large podcasting service that perhaps had feeds to digital radio stations. Poor old Brommers would have to cut 90% of what is said by virtue of the language content alone! Let's go one further and say that we got picked up by Auntie, they've sacked people for drinking whilst on air. Imagine that! I've spent the last two years recording radio almost exclusively hammered. Take away my "confidence juice" and I may not be able to make that one gold crass joke that makes Dazzer produce a near perfect spit-take with his beer... or in the case of this hypothetical scenario, his barley water or whatever the damn kids at the beeb are swigging these days.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you want to make something cool, enjoy it and have lots of fun!

Now, believe it or not, this post has taken quite a while for me to type up. Due to my out of control OCD it will never really be finished in my head, but I like to get everything that I type as close as I possibly can to what my perception of completed is.
I started this on Friday night. It's Sunday now and during the time between me finding the inbed code for In Confidence (I know there's a lot of links to Ben's site but I really love his new E.P Wrecked Vessels. Check it out yeah?) and now, we have received a reply to an email that I sent out at the start of the month. I sent a list of three questions to a band called The Wild.
I won't put the whole email up here, just part of their response which I feel highlights exactly what I am talking about (Willis):

"Thanks for the kind words about
'Set Ourselves Free.'
I'm really glad you like it
and it feels great to hear
that it means something to someone!"

Who does that? I'll tell you who. Someone that has a passion for the art that he makes with his friends. Not a record label guy sending out a generic if not automated response. A response on a personal level. Fantastic!
Thanks Witt, I think I love you little bit more now.

So what's this all about? I guess there is no such thing as a guilty pleasure when it comes to music. Enjoy it if you enjoy it, don't if you don't.

In my humble opinion though, It's next to impossible to not enjoy any of the guys and girls on this list.

Thanks to all of the good looking and talented folks that let us continue to play their music and make us smile!

Cheers!

C.J xoxo

Customer Satisfaction!

2011-08-05T22:34:00.005+01:00

Hello!

I would like to present a bit of show and tell today.
It's a piece that comes in the form of a letter. This letter encompasses nearly every emotion realised when discussing this particular topic, not only between myself and Brommers but also between myself and Brommers AND loads of other people!
Why? Well because it's universal. We've all been there.
The classic grumble of being plunged into an endless circular loop of crap muzak and the less than hopeful, cultish chant of:

"Your call is important to us,
a member of our customer services
team will answer your call shortly"

To which my (and everyone I've ever talked about this with's) reaction is always:
"If my call is really that important to you, a member of your snail paced customer services team should answer my fucking call now!" I am, however, an impatient bastard that, on some basic level at least, thinks that the world revolves around me. Specifically if I'm having trouble with my telephone / broadband / satellite TV service. When these illogical conditions are met the world not only revolves around me it accelerates and shifts it's orbit to not only wallop me in the face every rotation but give me a swift smack on the arse as it's lunar course passes my pale and already extremely aggravated derriere.

We have covered this topic on the show on numerous occasions and I can honestly say that the response to such treatment, as displayed within the message below, is absolute fucking genius.

If only I could one day be so lucky as to be able to vent such bile and spleen on to a page then I feel that my life would at that point be very much complete.

I would like to present to you, the only complaint letter ever worth a read, as told by the man, the myth, the legend, Mr Robert Stokes.

Take it away Bob...

Dear Cretins,

I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for your four-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, telephone, and alarm monitoring. During this three month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidity of monolithic proportions. Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative and seek to rectify these difficulties -- or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office.

My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website. HOW? I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes (an activity at which you are no doubt both familiar and highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools) such as a drill-bit and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone calls over four weeks my modem arrived, six weeks after I had requested it and begun to pay for it. I estimate your Internet server's downtime is roughly 35% between the hours between about 6 pm and midnight, Monday through Friday and most of the weekend. I am still waiting for my telephone connection.

I have made nine calls on my mobile to your no-help line and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of disinterested individuals who are, it seems, also highly skilled bollock jugglers. I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off); that I will be transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an answering machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman. And several other variations on this theme.

Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore and also another one of those crucially important testicle moments to attend to. Frankly I don't care. It's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustrations in print than to shout them at your unending hold music. Forgive me, therefore, if I continue.

I thought British Telecom was crap; that they had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer relations and that no one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That's why I chose NTL and because, well, there isn't anyone else is there?

How surprised I therefore was when I discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of bastards you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum, incompetents of the highest order. BT, wankers though they are, shine like brilliant beacons of success in the filthy mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy.

Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to deliver. Any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief and will quickly be replaced by derision and even perhaps bemused rage.

I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cat's litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not become desiccated during transit -- they were satisfyingly moist at the time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL and its worthless employees.

Have a nice day. May it be the last in your miserable short lives, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of twits.
May you rot in Hell.

Robert Stokes

Don't forget if you yourself are unsatisfied with your fortnightly Podcast service you can field your complaints to our customer service team here, here, here or via our regular email address: liquidinspirationpodcast@googlemail.com

...It's the .com that marks everything as spam anyway.

Dear Internet, where do you get off?

2011-06-24T23:40:00.009+01:00

Dear Internet,
This week I've been thinking a lot about how you give so many people so much joy and laughter. But have you ever considered that because of your selfless giving of "the good stuff" standards have started to slip?

I'm not just talking about the important things like porn.

I'm talking about EVERYTHING!

You see the other night, whilst recording yet another session of the worlds finest cost free swearing I stumbled on a rather poignant and beer induced epiphany:

"If there's a shit-load of people doing
the same thing on the Internet,
How the fuck am I supposed to know
what is good and what is shit?!"

Now, I regard myself as being quite the lucky fucker as, to quote
Mr Mike D: "I've got friends and family that I respect when I think I'm too good they put me in check".

It's true!

They do!

Not a week can pass by without someone close to me remarking that I'm being loud and / or incoherent over the very smallest of matters.
In regards to my input on the worlds finest Podcast I have been truly blessed with the gift of a dry and quick witted co-host alongside a veritable Smörgåsbord of special guests one of which just so happens to be the finest legal mind in the world available on hand to keep me towing the party line:

Now, because you, the Internet have made throwing content into the eyes, ears and pants of Joe Broadband so bloody easy, there is a lot to wade through in order to get to what you want to see / hear / wank to.
It has meant that for every titillating slice of fried whimsical brilliance there are forty million Kentucky fried pieces of shit to chew on and spit out before you get to sample that one divine portion of hotness you were looking for in the first place... I'm still not just talking about important things like porn.

It's tough to find really good stuff out there! Every sod is at it! More to the point, if you yourself are used to nothing but poop in a red and white striped bucket and you yourself start creating content for worldwide consumption, how do you know what is good and what is going to make you talk to God on the big white telephone?
How could you possibly know the difference?

One tip for you Internet, If you find yourself worried about the number of people that read / download / spank off to your creations that you're chucking out for free you should quit now.
You're plain not doing it right.

If, however, you find that you couldn't give to shits as to who enjoys your content and how then keep up the good work. We here at the home of flipping the bird at strangers not only salute your endeavours in "doing it for poops and giggles" but also fully support your reasons for doing such a thing in the first place. Enjoy what you're doing but ensure you've surrounded yourself with people that keep you honest, funny and in my case drunk!*

So I guess this post should have been called:

"Dear Internet, I know where and how you get off...

...That thought makes me need a cold shower."

*Legally I must add the following disclaimer:
I do not require any assistance of any description in keeping myself drunk from any other hosts or guest hosts of the downloadable drinking session known as: Liquid Inspiration Podcast.
However, financial offers of help in this endeavour from listeners of the show are always welcome when verbalised whilst within the environment of a public house.

Tattoo

2011-06-10T11:41:00.002+01:00

There you have it. I have another tattoo, and some sore fucking ribs. And I'm a blogger now. Wonderful.

Thanks to Andy at Skinflix.

An open letter to Polly Evans.

2011-05-29T21:30:00.005+01:00

Dear Polly,

How are you doing these days?
I thought I'd write you this letter to make sure everything was OK and to tell you that I really hope that you've never had to ask yourself the question:

"Where did it all go wrong?"

I know that from the outside looking in, the primary attractions of regional news reporting are pant wettingly seductive. The glitz, glamour, the various opportunities to get pissed with Geoff Clark in one of Tunbridge Wells' many soulless discount pubs, all of the money, the fame, as much license-payer-funded tea as you can drink and of course the chance to correct people by loudly proclaiming the word "ROYAL" just after they say "Tunbridge Wells"
(Are those people born in caves? Honestly! It's written on the sodding sign!)
The thing is Polly, it isn't all it's cracked up to be is it? Oh sure at first the high octane, white knuckle job of reporting the pressing matters of the day direct from the heart of the garden of England has it's shine. The fact that you're paid five to ten percent more than your pal Nazaneen has to be a bit of an ego boost!
It means you can afford to get a few extra rounds in when propping up the bar with Geoff McHollow-Legs! Your clean cut, well groomed co-presenter Rob "Whatever-his-name-is-it-might-be-thornton-wait-no-it's-"Smith can be quite funny once in a blue moon! All of the aforementioned adds up to something that sure beats the hell out of an average office job doesn't it!?

But I can see through the forced smile Polly, We all can. Your buddy Nazzer now works at Sky News and let's face it in that environment she doesn't even need to be able to read let alone spell the word News! No Polly, she'll be presenting their accurate and not at all fictional version of the days events right in the top spot within the next few months based solely on her looks alone.
(Quite unfair in my opinion... although she is fit. (Citation Needed))
I have to say that if I were in your shoes, after a day of listening to Rob "Whatever-his-name-is-it-might-be-thornton-actually-who-cares-oh-wait-no-it's-"Smith bang on about Grovlington-On-Sea's annual Pig & Goat Fondling Contest whilst trying to bend his petite brain around a way to say the phrase "I've dated a few pigs!" without getting his wrists slapped by those upstairs, I'd need a little more than a few hours of getting pissed and bitching about Kaddy with Geoff to unwind. I mean let's face it,

This isn't what you signed up for!
You don't want this!

I think you should publicly vent your stresses, think about it.
There really isn't that Fleet Street (or wherever they print the papers now) hustle and bustle going on down here in the so-called garden of England. If only you could create your own brand of news. Something you could really sink your journalistic teeth into! What about that exact phrase? "The garden of England"? My buddy Dazzer and I have always claimed that depending on where you are in Kent, it's often the garden with the burnt out washing machine and some rusty parts of a Škoda from the 80's strewn over what used to be the lawn. What are your thoughts on that? Surly your opinions on how two drunks can very quickly tar an entire county in one very, albeit off the cuff, accurate statement have to be better than half of the 'round our way dross that you have to cover as part of your contract. Let's face it, on a slow news day, one where the children of Crumblish-On-Marsh Primary School haven't dragged their ape like knuckles in some paint then over some paper and had some Phil Collins listening, quiffed arsehole put the festering results up in his shitty little seaside art gallery, the boring fact that a borderline alcoholic such as myself can even dress himself let alone use entire sentences could well be your lead story couldn't it! That's quite sad Polly. You deserve to do better.
All you have to do is grab the news horse by the reins and let that sod know who is in charge around here!
The next time Rob "Whatever-his-name-is-it-might-be-thornton-actually-who-cares-seriously-who-could-give-a-crap-oh-wait-no-it's-"Smith ties up a segment on the ladies of the W.I in Greater Guffly Upon Squat making the worlds 48th largest trifle you could turn to him and say something akin to:

"Thanks Rob you gurning suit with hair.
That was the dullest crap ever.
(Turn to Camera)
...and from all of us here at
South East Today, try not to punch yourself too hard in the eye!.. Idiots."

Think about how satisfying that would be Polly! To be able to vent your spleen like that in a truly public way! Televised no less! Brilliant!
Let's face it your local competitors are in the same boat. I can see them jumping on top of that "story" like it was a super fun bouncy castle made out of Simon Cowell's face:

I must say I feel sorry for those that don't have their own sweary media outlet as I do. You see Polly, it's important to realise that letting off a bit of steam every now and then is one thing. Letting off a metric-shit-load of steam on a regular basis gives you the ability to take stock of the important things in life. Go on Polly have a vent every now and then!
I was talking to someone today who said she saw you debating AV one time and that you were quite passionate about the whole affair! The true reporter in you was all fired up apparently. I was told that you were so super awesome that you could well wake up tomorrow jack in the job at the Beeb and start a new career as a divorce attorney specialising in multi million pound suits and (I'm adding this bit) when you don't win a case you simply become a Ninja and Ninja the lawyer that beat you in court into little messy Ninja'd bits!

Probably.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you Polly is that it's OK to not want to report the stupid local yokel non-news stories. Every now and then let loose on air and make it your own. If, however, you feel that auntie won't let that kind of thing fly then you know what Polly, you are always welcome to sit in on the last beacon of independent truth-bombs on the Internet! Yes Polly you are welcome to loudly (and drunkenly as is the style (No Citation Needed)) declare your frustrations as a correspondent for the world to hear on Liquid Inspiration Podcast any time you like.

And flip Rob the bird from me when you see him.

Cheers!

C.J Hixon Esq

Polly Evans presents BBC South East Today with Rob Smith on BBC1.

There is no evidence to suggest that they are not completley satisfied with their work and in real life are most likley good friends.