The Pen Is Mightier Than A Terrorists Neck Flesh.

Mark Wahlberg and his hypothetical heroism made me think of something that happened to me a few years a go on a flight home from Italy. Depending on how you look at it I either nearly stopped a terrorist attack or I came within seconds of killing an innocent man. Either way I did nothing, absolutely nothing at all. But I was ready to, and that's the point.

I had been on summer holiday to a village in central Italy where my family are from, I was flying back to Prestwick from Rome, a notoriously shitty flight. Full of screaming kids and old Italians who insist upon clapping the landing, which really bothers me for some reason.

I had take my seat between my cousin Anthony, who got the window, and some random guy who took the aisle. The random guy next to me had a heavy tan, dark hair, and a moustache. Easily Italian. I didn't notice him for most of the flight, as I tend to put my hoody on backwards and wear the hood over my face so I don't have to look at anyone or waste my time acknowledging the existence of any Ryanair cabin crew.

The flight was as all return flights are, long, uncomfortable and sad. So much so that it makes all kids cry as loud as they can for as long as they can. Or at least that is the way it seems. When I finally heard the captain say "cabin crew take your seats for landing" I knew I was almost home. Just stay under the hood for another 10/15 minutes and I would be off this plane, away from these blue and yellow cunts, away from the screaming kids and away from this guy next to me who by this point was sweating fairly heavily.

After another 30 minutes, and we are still in the air, I took my hood down to see that a lot of people were looking out the windows. My cousin Anthony looked at me and said "there are fighter jets following us." I didn't believe him. What a crazy thing to say. Then I looked and the two things outside our right side looked exactly like two fighter jets. Curious. I strained to look out the left side and saw at least one more. Mix this with the fact we had been circling for a while, I kind of started to worry.

I should point out here that I have no prejudice based on what the news tells me, because that would go against my one rule, that would make me a dick. If you think someone who isn't the same colour as you is a potential threat you are not only a dick, but a cunt to boot. However. Saying that, this fellow next to me, who looked like an Italian at the beginning of the flight was starting to look all Taliban-y to me. He began to sweat heavier, and became very fidgety. After about 3 minutes of me using my excellent peripheral vision to keep an eye on him, and noticing that he was making eye contact with a guy of a similar look 3 rows ahead of us, he stood up, opened the overhead bin, grabbed something and stuffed it straight into his jacket pocket. I shat it.

I started to have a mild internal panic attack, I looked around the plane. I seemed to be the only one with a Mark One Eyeball on this guy. This guy, with his pal, were planning to take down the plane... It doesn't matter how insane that sounds, at the time, given the jets, the circling and this guys behaviour (or my interpretation of it) it was real enough. I rummaged around my pockets for keys or anything I could use as a weapon. In my outside left jacket pocket I had a silver writing pen. That's it. If this bastard makes his move I'll stick this pen in his throat. Joe Pesci style. I clicked the pen as if that nib would make all the difference in penetrating his skin.

I sat there staring at the headrest in front of me, keeping my peripherals on the mark. In my head I was falling to pieces, I obviously didn't want the guy to be a terrorist, I certainly didn't want to think I was on a plane that someone decided wasn't going to make it's destination... But I did kind of want to be able to stab someone in the throat with a pen, and I am not afraid to admit that I gave thought to the insane amount of Hero Pussy I'd get. To put this in context, lot's of shit had happened by this point, including the attempt on Glasgow Airport, where the terrorists got a swift boot to the baws. The guy with the exploding pants had his head kicked in by the same people he planned to kill in the name of a fucking religion.. The tide had turned, people were scared enough to hit out. And if this cunt next to me so much as coughs, I thought, I will stab the shit out of his throat and eyes.

I was like a tightly coiled spring. But then we landed. And he hadn't made his move. Maybe he had no move and I had just lost my damn mind, or maybe he got cold feet. Or maybe he thought the guy next to him with the beard, and his hand firmly in his pocket, staring at the back of the seat in front of him like he is thinking about killing someone... maybe he though that I was what he appeared to be to me... If that makes sense.

We all shuffled off the plane, dealt with the luggage and went home. I couldn't shift it though. As much as I had imagined most of it, I had kind of convinced myself to kill that guy. It made me realise something. The guy was Italian, without doubt, my moment of madness was just that. I found out the next day that the jets were precautionary because of a break in at Prestwick Airport in which a bunch of hippies had stormed the runway in some idiotic protest against George W Bush who was due at the Airport the next week for the G8. But as it stood at the time, in the plane, I don't think it was too far of a leap, after all we are being told day in day out that we should fear this kind of thing. It is truly despicable, but it is the way the news works now. I don't usually watch the news. But in that village in Italy BBC News 24 is one of only 2 English language channels we have. So I watched it. For two weeks solid.

Let's just say, for arguments sake that I killed the guy. He stood up again and I jammed the pen in his throat and repeated the action until I was, in effect, punching his spinal column. The plane would be painted with his blood, people would be screaming, babies would STILL be screaming. They all saw it, they all saw me stab this guy dozens of times. With all the witnesses and my own confession, I still think I would get away with it. And why not. I didn't do it, even if I was covered in his blood. I have a long history of being calm(ish) and collected(ish), I would explain that I spent two weeks watching The BBC's Version of the news, I would tell them about the fighter jets and this guys behaviour. I would tell the world that I was led to believe that my options were stab the guy or end up being terrorised(?) Is that the right term? You know what I mean. There is far too many Rolling News channels on, and none of them are telling you anything except new things to be scared of. It isn't news. It is the worst TV show on any network in any country. It is a dark, farcical comedy about us chasing an invisible threat around the oil rich countries of the world.

Everyone wants to be a hero. Or at least believe that they have it in them. I don't know if I would have gone through with it, panic will do funny things to you. I'd like to think that had the situation called for it I would have executed this guy and his pal... But at the same time, had he pulled out a bomb, or knife or anything I would probably have shat my pants. That's the problem with hypothetical scenarios, Marky Mark, you just never know how you'll react. A series of events led me to disregard almost everything I have learned, don't make assumptions about people being a big one. Don't watch the BBC being the other. That's a pretty big one.

I wish there was a bigger ending to this story. It simply proves that while you all think about these horrific things on planes, the chances of anything happening are truly remote. But if they do, you should be prepared. Watch Marky Mark's movies, take notes. Decorate the first class with terrorist blood. Fucking chop 'em up. The world will thank you for it, and there's not a court in the land that would convict you. The Land Of Hero Pussy and Mad Props Awaits Ye. It's like the religious concept of paradise... Except, you know, attainable.

This One time, In A Vegas Strip Club.

There is a semi naked girl on my TV. Her name is Lolly, and she is currently squeezing her ass cheeks and waving her vagina at the camera. She is on the phone, one can only assume the depravity of the person on the other line. Battering away on his dick, listening to some girl with really awful tits talk dirty to him. It is one of the most disgusting rackets legally allowed to operate. I think it is an insult to men. Furthermore I think it is degrading. I feel the same about strip clubs, kind of, but at least the girl is actually waving her tits and ass in your face in a strip club.

The general theory is that because women are naked in these places, that somehow they are being taken advantage of. Which they aren't obviously. It is men who are being taken advantage of, playing to their weaknesses. Once women were allowed to unleash the full beauty of their being, men were fucked. More figuratively than anything. Once there was a price on pussy, so to speak. Marketing people, like with almost everything good, managed to some how ruin sex(y). They placed it up on such a magnificently high shelf that it became harder to find than the clit... Eh guys... Guys? Sorry for that, it won't happen again.

Lolly is now pretend humping something or someone. In fact, if you CGI'd a horse under her, galloping really hard, she wouldn't look out of place. Apart from the fact she is naked. The people who make this show must be fucking raking it in. That's why I have never agreed with the old "strip clubs are degrading to women" line. The people who say that are the same people who have never been into a strip club, or downtrodden husbands who have to say it when the wife brings it up with company. "yes dear, degrading." While fingering the wallet that used to store food money. The only people being degraded in a strip club are the punters. Throwing money at a stripper so she can dance close enough to turn you on, but no touching. You are paying a girl to get you horny so you can either go home and rub one out, or you can go pay another woman to fuck you. It just seems completely ridiculous to me, just rub one out to start with. Have some fucking will power man.

I've been in two strip clubs. Both in Vegas, both completely different experiences. A few years ago I went to Vegas for the first time with my good friend, let's call him Jim (I am already breaking the What Happens In Vegas rule, I don't want to take liberties as he doesn't know I'm writing this). Jim and I decided that the old adage 'anything worth doing is worth doing right' and after meeting our limo driver at the airport we went straight to the off license and got booze. Then we nervously asked Sal, the limo driver whose first words to me were "I can get you guys anything you want" if he could get us something we really wanted. To his credit, within the hour we were into it.

About 4 days later, when we realised that we hadn't slept, or indeed really left the room yet that we would go to a strip club. A taxi took us ages out of the way, it would later become an inconvenience bordering on life threatening. But we got there. It was about 5 in the morning if I remember correctly. Upon entering the place, keeping in mind we were full of booze and madness, we went straight to the bar and I immediately took advantage of Las Vegas smoking law that prohibits smoking absolutely nowhere. There were quite a few people in the place, but I ignored them and went straight for the dances. I wasn't paying, I had forgotten my wallet and Jim was covering it. He took no part in my vile ways because of his girlfriend back home, so all the more for me. I went mad, got dances with mostly all the girls who were available, more than one at a time some of the time. I was wrecked so I didn't really pay much attention to the questioning of what I did for a living, I just thought it was standard stripper patter.

During a dance with two black girls one of the girls came over and asked us to join them at the bar, where they were handing champagne to Jim, which turned out to be free. I again didn't question this due to my naivety, it wasn't until there were only a few guys left at the bar and I decided to forget where I was for a second.

I ran out of cigs and saw a guy next to me had a pack on the bar, I walked over. "Excuse me mate" I shouted over the music. He acknowledged me with a nod. "You wouldn't tap me a fag would you?" I said, thinking nothing of it because we call cigs Fags in Britain. I don't know why, Never asked. But that didn't matter because suddenly this cunt gets wild. Throwing his arms up and staring at me like I had just walked in the room and wanked in to his lap. "What the fuck did you just say?" He screamed, his two meatheaded mates gathered round. "Listen mate, I'm just looking for a fag." That sealed it. And about three seconds after I said it realisation washed over me like a fucking tidal wave. I tried to calm it but the guy kind of went for me, "You've come to the wrong place for a fag pal!" but before anything really sore happened the guy and his mates were wrestled out and we were left drinking at the bar with the strippers and the champagne. We now had all the strippers gathered round, I don't know the collective noun for strippers, maybe Corum or Quango. An Awesomeness of strippers? Whatever, we had them. We got wrecked.

Soon after those guys got thrown out Jim came over to me worried looking, he told me we had to leave because the bouncers just asked him for his gun. I knew nothing about a gun and was just wrecked enough to throw logic away and assume that he must have one. He went on to say that they had assured him everything was ok, but they knew his line of work and club policy stated no guns.

I started to think about the questions I had been asked. One sprung straight to my head that is obvious now, but try comprehending anything after being awake for 4 days, no food and there is a half naked girl actually dry humping your erection. One asked me why I needed a bodyguard. It is important to point out here that Jim is a solid drinker, one of those who get drunk, but look kind of sober. While I am the guy rolling about on the floor. A series of totally innocent things happened through the course of the visit that led these girls to believe that we were monied and/or famous.

The fact Jim paid for everything from the start, and me mumbling it was because "he takes care of me", being unwittingly evasive with their questions, Jim appearing to be wearing a gun on his belt, when it was just one of those phone pouches, the fact that when they asked how long we were in Vegas for our answer was we are on our way to LA, because that was the truth. Vis a vis, ergo, they thought Jim was my bodyguard and I, someone in need of a bodyguard. Once we figured it out, had a wee meeting away from the girls, we decided only actual real life idiots would leave that place. This was maybe not The American Dream, but I think we were close.

We drank so much more, and with nothing left keeping us awake and sober, it was going to end. We could both feel it. Once the shift change was coming we knew our time was up, so I took one of the girls into the back room where I was promised a private dance. I was on a couch in what was just a closed bar, and while this girl did her utmost to keep me entertained I was drifting off, I can just remember waking up every few minutes as I dozed off and there she'd be, dancing for me. She tried her best to keep me entertained, and in a last gasp attempt to make sure I had a great time, as is the way in America if you're spending money the people taking it are nice to you (take note Britain there is more hospitality in a Vegas strip club in the early morning than there is in Britain on whole) She grabbed my dick and started going for it. I woke up, mid handjob as Jim is accompanied by the doormen who were assuring him I was ok and not being robbed or anything. I didn't even say anything, it was over. Me and my erection were going back to the hotel, because what was ever going to happen? I wasn't going to be the one guy to get to fuck a stripper after only paying for a dance. Even with our luck that night. We had exhausted that. We said our goodbyes and made for the door, and walked straight into the midday heat, that is a quick way to jump back into some kind of reality. From a dark, air conditioned room full of hot women, to the vast desert in the bright sunshine and the really hot air.

For some unknown reason we chose to walk, more than likely because we had no money left. We eventually got back to the hotel and finally crashed out. We woke up about 20 something hours later and I had to phone down to reception to find out what day it is incase we had missed our flights to LA, we still had a day. The receptionist who answered didn't seem fussed by the question, I can imagine they hear it often.

I love that story, it is as close as I will ever come to winning the lottery. It pisses other guys off a little, guys who frequent strip clubs on nights out. Why? Because strip clubs are degrading to men. They are designed to prey on a lack of will power that is inherent through mostly all men, the fact that if you appeal to a mans libido he will do anything, including throw money at a girl who is going to do nothing but make you horny and skint. That's what Lolly with the terrible tits is doing. She is waving her stuff at you, asking you to call now.

I don't have much luck with women, I have some. I'd call it sporadic. But my point is that even if I don 't have sex for days, weeks or months on end I would never get to the point that I needed to phone some girl who I wouldn't even consider talking to for free in order to get off. Have some damn respect.

It's Friday 13th. Time To Dust Off The Saga.

To me there is no greater horror saga than the Friday The 13th series. It has pretty much everything; including strong morals, that you ignore in favour of cheering the big bastard on. Jason, the potato sack and, latterly, hockey mask wearing unkillable madman has a lust for the blood of the naughty. Fuck, drink and smoke weed anywhere near Crystal Lake and there is a strong chance Jason will hunt you down and chop you in half. If you're lucky enough to have never fucked anyone, or drank and there is a chance you can evade death and maybe even send the bastard back to where once he came.

In the summer of 2000, when I had just left school, I went to work in New Hampshire at a summer camp. On a day off a bunch of us decided to go to the cinema. On the road there we drove by a lay by which led down to a lake, there was a rope swing hanging on a tree over the water. I had a crazy sense I had been there before, but I had never been to the state, never mind some out of the way lay by in deepest darkest New Hampshire, whose state slogan is "Live Free Or Die!". I told my buddy Chris that I recognised it, maybe deja vu I said. He said "it's in Friday 13th Part 4." It was only then it dawned on me that I had taken a job at a camp on Crystal Lake. I shat it. I didn't sleep for a week, and I stopped drinking, and I stopped trying to bang the Russian kitchen staff.

I was really worried.

A few years later I would end up study cinema, forever ruining the mystery of movies for myself and those around me. But back then, given my geographical location, the surrounding woods, the lake and all these fucking promiscuous camp councilors around me, I feared the worse. Like the Loch Ness Monster, the story of Jason had to come from somewhere, I thought. Every little noise outside my window at night would make me think of Jason... It is the middle of nowhere, in the woods, there were lots of noises.

Anyway, to me there is no greater example of great American slasher movies. Freddie can go fuck himself. The Nightmare on Elm Street series never got over the exceptional first movie, after that they all sucked so much, it is a wonder any body involved wanted their names attached. The only time Freddie became watchable again was in Freddie Vs Jason.

Jason can't be stopped. That is a stone cold fact. The limits of what is acceptable in terms of coming up with fresh storylines is pushed to the absolute limit throughout the series. But up until part 4, it is straight up good, gory fun. In Part 1 it is the murderous, grieving Mrs Voorhees who makes the slut councilors pay for the drowning of her son. It isn't until part 2 where we get to see Jason, but it isn't until part 3 when Jason becomes the Jason we all love, that machete wielding, hockey mask wearing madman.

He can't be stopped, but he can (technically) be killed. Although already dead, he has been ripped ton pieces over the 10+ movies. Even reanimated in outer space in Jason X, which got panned like fuck, but is worth watching for the bit when he drowns a girl by pushing her face into liquid nitrogen, he then smashes her face on a work surface. Genius.

It is the deaths which drive these movies, it doesn't matter who he kills. It's how they die. Final Destination movies brought this back to popular culture. In a world of creepy, but ultimately pish Japanese movies about kids hiding in lofts, it is good to know that some people still desire to see elaborate, largely unbelievable and always worthy of a cheer kind of kills. Where else could you cheer a guy in a wheel chair getting macheted in the face?

It is a notoriously difficult series to properly get into, in terms of writing about it due to lack of care when new installments were being written. Fuck, it's hard enough keeping track while watching them.

As famous as he is, an iconic character in the long history of cinema, transcending his genre. He almost never was, no one expected a sequel to the first movie, and this shows throughout the series. But you ignore all that, and instead focus on things like Crispin Glover being nailed to a door frame and then ripped violently from it. But he deserved it for being such a dick about the Back To The Future thing.

So, Jason drowned. His mother got decapitated after a revenge killing spree. Jason somehow witnessed the decapitation (which was a plot point added later in the series) and that sparked his saga, al;though he definitely wasn't there at the end of the first movie. There is no logic in the series, only awesomeness. Jason is a warning to America, don't drink, smoke of have pre-marital sex, lest you be picked up in your sleeping bag and repeatedly battered against a tree until dead. He is the big, sharp stick of morality in Reagan's America. Christ, it even had the Reagan Anti Drug poster boy Corey Feldman who, despite his age in part 4 was probably out his tits on something... But he made the 4th movie incredible. It is probably the best. It is called The Final Chapter, and maybe should have ended after it. Between Feldman's terrible idea to pretend to be a young Jason to confuse him, and the aforementioned Crispin Glover bit, it really is amazing.

Keep yer Hostels and Saws. Gory for the sake of it, and a sad attempt at playing to peoples fear of being injured. Give me unkillable, machete wielding maniacs who hate sluts any day of the week.

How The Royals Need To Stop The Scrounging And Get With The Program.

It's tough being a citizen of any country, you have to accept the known stereotypes. You have to accept what that some people will hate you for things your government deem to be acceptable behavior, although it never is. You have to put up with your taxes being wasted on nonsense that you may not agree with. Worst of all, I guess, you have to deal with the archaic laws and practices of a group of people charged with taking the country forward, but at the same time never accept, or take in to account that times change, people change and the world evolves.

Take for example the British Royal Family, this is a tricky subject in this country. The idea of a Queen, Princes and Princesses may seem like a bit of a joke to many around the world, and to many in the UK, equally there are a high percentage of Loyal Royalists who think that it sets us a part, having this system. Letting a family of inbred Germans bleed the country dry while giving very little back.

While the world watched The Royal Wedding last year, millions of people saw it as a true love story, Will and Kate. The Prince and the Commoner, as it was billed. Love it may have been, but there were more sinister reasons for the coupling. Maybe not completely factual, I am literally making this shit up as I go, but I'll try and make it as believable as possible.

When the Queen married Prince Phillip of Greece, she did so in the wake of WW2 while Britain was in the depths of recession. It was no coincidence that Wills and Kate married in similar circumstances. Post-ish war (we will never be post war again), recession, people in need of a good time. A return to British values (whatever they may be). There is one massive difference between the two couplings, Kate and William are in no way related. This difference is the main reason for the marriage.

Incest plays havoc on the gene pool. Had they kept on down the same cousin fucking road that they have been on since they told all the peasants that "ze are taking control of ze country". Some fresh blood was needed, it is believed that the long serving Royal Doctor was simply fed up cutting off extra fingers and rounding the tops of heads. The baby that will inevitably be born of this tryst will stand a better chance being that the blood that flows in Kates Common veins is not the same as her husbands. This was the real big news, not the dress, not her ugly sister's skinny ass, not the service or guest list. New blood in the royal family is a cause for international celebration.

The crux of the matter, in my eyes, is that we allow these people to live for free under the belief that they are better than us. That the tainted blood which flows through their veins is in some way better than the blood which flows through ours, and that is coming from a guy who descended from Augustus, First Emperor Of Rome. Their system is an antique. It is in dire need of fixing. Which, I suppose, is where I come in.

To keep the Royalists happy I shall allow the Queen and her immediate family to continue the life they are accustomed to. Queen, Prince Phillip, Charles, the other brothers whose names escape me, and of course William and Illegitimate Harry. Everyone else has to get a job. No more free ride, your self imposed importance is invalid now that so many tax paying, honest and clean blooded citizens are living in poverty. As for the immediate family, it's performance time. The Queen doesn't do enough. Tradition can go fuck itself, daily performances for the tourists, while they change the guard, the Queen should be out meeting and greeting and posing for photos. As the times change, so should our outdated practices.

The likes of the Ugly Sisters, whom I can't remember the names of either, but I believe them to be the daughters of Fergie, the princess not the singer. They have to go. Same with Zara and her meathead husband.

I feel I have been too nice. An attempt to be diplomatic perhaps. So I'll finish by pointing out that these inbred German landgrabbers have drained this country dry with their catholic-level of pro-creation. There are too many of them. If all this wasn't bad enough they are also directly responsible for the rise of celebrity culture, it was practically invented to dupe the country into accepting Prince Phillip of Greece as their new Prince after he and then Princess, future Queen Elizabeth hit it off when she was just his 13 year old cousin. A mass campaign of proving his Britishness, and then the perceived notion forced into the minds of the public through the tabloid media that they were, in essence, part of the big wedding because without that idea the public might get a little miffed that they were spending tens of thousands on a wedding while the war weary public couldn't afford bread.

Sure, people will bitch and moan all day about immigrants playing the system, but why should people seeking refuge and a better life care about bleeding the system dry when it is a system watched over by the biggest scrounging family in the history of Britain?

Their time has come, it's over, this is just me bitching about shit that is coming to an end anyway. As the country becomes more and more diverse, the need, or understanding the need for a Royal Family becomes more and more obscure. They should be put to work. All of them. Prince Phillip should have been given his own show years ago where we introduce him to various people of ethnicity and just wait for the magic to happen. The Queen should be out meeting the public on a daily basis, shaking hands, posing for photos. Charles should be made to tap dance on the roof of the palace in order to, in some small way, earn all the play medals he wears at official events.

Millions of people turn out per year to look at a big, garish palace in the middle of London, the Royals don't really need to be in it, these people would come anyway. So this is almost me being nice to the Royal family, their time is short, they must adapt or become obsolete. If they pulled their weight a bit with the tourists the country would generate more money. If there is ever a good looking one she could pose for playboy and pump the fee into the tax payers pockets. But that is way off. We will wait and see if Kate and Wills have a good looking child. Something on par with the Queen when she was around 19/20. That would do, she was born at the wrong time. She was hot, and if you look closely at photos, she was hiding a magnificent pair of tits. Such a waste.