There are only two things that really get on my nerves (there aren't, there are billions) and those things are religion and shit documentaries. Imagine my luck then last night when I realised that no one would go out drinking with me and I had NO CHOICE but to stay in and watch The Secrets Of Scientology. It really pulled the lid off this strange, weird religion. Did you know that some people who are members of a religion are insane? Well, I never!
The Secrets of Scientology is a follow up to John Sweeney's 2007 documentary, Scientology and Me, which I haven't seen but there is enough clips of it here that got me right up to speed. The Church of Scientology is full of nutters. There, now you're up to speed too.
I lost faith in the documentary pretty much immediately. It started with the usual, incredibly dull reference point that everything to do with Scientology starts with: "The religion of the stars" and then cut to a picture of Tom Cruise. Surely there are thousands more Christian celebrities than there are famous Scientologists? Some Jewish people own chimpanzees. Is Judaism the faith of monkey owners? Of course not. Chimpanzees are apes, not monkeys. Everyone knows that, dick. John Sweeney even goes on to interview three of the 25 million celebrities on Earth and, for reasons I can't figure out, doesn't show the interviews. He just assures us that what they said was zany. When Sweeney finds out that Scientologists believe in an intergalactic warlord who is still living on Earth he confronts the celebrities and asks them what they think about that. They all deny it. Well, Sweeney says they denied it. Although the documentary clearly shows him asking the question it never once shows the celebrities response. That's like the news on 9/11 just showing a loop of the opening titles to Sex And The City and saying "Trust me. They're gone now".
The documentary is full of stuff like this. Five minutes in and Sweeney is complaining about being filmed by the Church. All the documentary proved at that point is that some people in central London have video cameras.
And that was the one interesting thing about the documentary. Every single thing we hear is a second hand story. Bad things happen to some people in this religion but we don't see it. Bad things happen to people when they leave this religion but we don't see it. But the Church of Scientology wouldn't let you see it, would they? They are evil and will destroy anyone who speaks out against their faith. So why did they openly follow and film John Sweeney wherever he went in California? I mean, the documentary clearly showed cars following him, people following him and if he stopped to interview anyone a film crew appeared and shoved cameras right in his face. If the Church of Scientology is so protective and secretive, why would they openly reveal this kind of harassment? Does the documentary answer that one? Nah.
So what secrets have been revealed in The Secrets of Scientology? That it's a closed off cult catering to the weak and a force that uses fear against anyone who decries what it claims it stands for. In other words, it's a religion. In fact, at one point Kirsty Alley gets upset with Sweeney for using the word "cult". "Would you turn around to a jewish person and say that they are in a cult?" she says pointing her big finger in his face. "No", he whimpers.
WHY NOT? It's a cult. Catholicism is a cult. Islam is a cult. Loud Atheism is a cult. Twitter is a cult. What a ridiculous point to make and an even more ridiculous point to shy away from. Stupid bloody religious people and stupid bloody documentary makers. They deserve each other.
But I understand why he whimpered no. Kirsty Alley is proud and protective about her connections to the Church of Scientology and you must respect people's beliefs. And that's my major problem. That phrase. "You must respect people's beliefs". Why? People's beliefs are fucking insane. There isn't a single religion that isn't an affront to humanity. Islam hates women. Catholic Priests fuck children. The Church of England is boring. I don't see a single reason to respect people's beliefs. People are dicks.
And here's my new person-that-I-hate. Yes, yesterday it was George Lucas but yesterday was months ago. Today it's Ching Hai, or to giver her her full name Supreme Master Ching Hai. Ching Hai is a boring bastard who funds her tedious religion by writing books about her dogs and selling jewellery. She has a following of over 20,000 people. She is vegan and loves dogs! I should love her! I dunno though...there's just something about someone who starts up their own religion and calls herself Supreme Master that doesn't sit comfortably with me. I discovered Ching Hai while in a vegan restaurant in Vienna. Her books and poetry were everywhere (Poetry sample: "That afternoon, I too wanted to be a statue") as was her biography. Christ, she's a big headed bitch. I think once you know that her website is www.godsdirectcontact.org surely that should be enough to put you off her. My favourite part of her story is when she met a Buddhist monk, learnt from him but was rejected acceptance into his monastery. Buddhism is all about being open, peaceful and connecting to all living things. If you're not accepted by them you know you're a right cunt. But some people love her. She even owns a TV station that attracts the big time celebrities that the Church of Scientology could only dream of. Eric Roberts thinks we should thank her for everything, including her poetry. That's right, Doctor Who fans, The Master follows the Supreme Master. Depressing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jr69r7nlMy4
www.michaellegge.info
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
I Have A Bad Feeling About This.
I haven't been blogging much recently and for very good reason. Not fuck not nothing has happened. I mean, I got a new vacuum cleaner but I just don't think I can get a blog out of that unless it starts playing loud music on a train or gets a shit comedy show on BBC3. I've been busy, no-one has really annoyed me (until today) and everything is as it was last blog. This is basically a catch-up.
My foot is still big. In a way, I'm proud of it. I've been taking all my tablets and doing my exercises and the swelling has only gone down a little bit. It is defiant to the very end. The tendon's in my foot are inflamed, I have an angry foot and it won't calm down. My foot has turned into the son I never had. Unlike my stupid useless left foot that just sits there being fine. Prick. My right foot has character, intensity and swelling, just like Brando. It's also notoriously difficult to work with (it's hard to squeeze it into even a flip flop) but if you saw it you would never forget it. Given a chance, my foot would definitely leave it's mark on you. Sometimes, I don't even notice my left foot's in the room. What? Am I the only person here who has a favourite foot?
To be honest, the boring left foot might be boring and dull and boring but it's definitely the one with the looks. My sassy, bad-ass right foot has all the moves but looks like an inflated rubber glove.
Stupid things are still happening. Not many but some so stupid it defies any sense. I have a Star Wars Darth Vader shaped chocolate bar on a stick in my spare room. It's part of the not quite tidied away Museum of Star Wars that takes up six shelves in that room. I was doing a spot of writing the other day when I heard the fistle of tin foil. At first I thought it was a mouse. A mouse made of tin foil. I looked round and saw the Darth Vader chocolate move all on it's own. Weird, I thought. Chocolate doesn't normally move of it's own freewill. That might be the strangest thing that I will see today.
Then it blew up. It FUCKING BLEW UP! Right in front of me. One minute it was just another piece of Attack Of The Clones merchandise that I'll regret ever owning and ignore forever and then the next it was like Hiroshima in there. But smaller. And more chocolatey. I've asked all sort of science experts (well, dicks on Twitter) and no one can explain what happened. Does spontaneous combustion really effect confectionery like it does that man who was just a leg and a burnt out chair in that photograph I used to spend hours looking at in 1976? I took a picture of it in case Arthur C. Clarke wants it for another volume of Mysterious World. If you know what happened please tell me. It's just fucking freaky.
I'm still angry. That's nice, eh? And I have someone to take my anger out on: George Lucas.
Maybe the exploding Darth Vader chocolate was a sign. An omen. A message from the future about the horror that is to come. You see, I'm a 42 year old man that refuses to let go of his childhood and George Lucas is an insane destroyer of his own work and therefore my childhood memories. I saw Star Wars 5 times in 1977 for a very good reason: it was the single greatest thing I had ever seen in my life. In fact, to this day, I'm not sure that there is anything better than the original Star Wars film. Nothing has effected me more than that film. I read all the comics, I bought all the toys, I lived amongst the everything of Star Wars. My clothes, bedsheets, schoolbooks and skin all had Star Wars written on them. For me, aged 9 or 42, this wasn't just a film it was a cultural change. The design of the TIE Fighter alone means more to me than anything Elvis ever did.
In 1999, like most men in their early 30's, I lost sleep over the excitement of seeing The Phantom Menace but in hindsight I shouldn't have. The clues that being shit was it's destiny were there already with the release of the original trilogy's Special Editions. A Jawa falling off a dinosaur's back is the peak of George Lucas' sense of humour. It was completely pointless. And what was really so wrong with the Ewok's victory song that they had to get a new one? What's the fucking difference?
And now he's releasing all six Star Wars films in 3D. That's right, we'll be able to have Jar-Jar in our fucking face instead of just on a screen. What George Lucas doesn't understand is that these films aren't his. They're mine. He gave them to me. You can't just buy someone a present and every few years take it back and stick shit all over it. "Look, Mum. I bought you some flowers. Now every few years I'll punch you in the teeth". But I've come up with a plan...
George Lucas has to be stopped and I have decided that I must stop him. Here's the scheme, and it's taken a lot of thought and planning but I hope you can grasp the basics of it: When Star Wars 3D comes out....let's not go. Let's just ignore it. If your kids want to see it just remember that that's why you hit kids. I'm thinking of having a child just so I can not take it to see Star Wars 3D. My child will never reach out and "throttle" Dexter Jettster or be bored rigid in the skies of Coruscant flying after Zam Wessell. And George fucking Lucas won't get another penny from me. I have the films on DVD. That's it. That's all I need. Dagobah looks a shithole, why would I want to feel like I'm really there? It'll be about £15 to see it in IMAX. Why not give that money straight to some independent film company who might make something good?
You can write this shit, George, but you sure as hell can't watch it.
www.michaellegge.info
My foot is still big. In a way, I'm proud of it. I've been taking all my tablets and doing my exercises and the swelling has only gone down a little bit. It is defiant to the very end. The tendon's in my foot are inflamed, I have an angry foot and it won't calm down. My foot has turned into the son I never had. Unlike my stupid useless left foot that just sits there being fine. Prick. My right foot has character, intensity and swelling, just like Brando. It's also notoriously difficult to work with (it's hard to squeeze it into even a flip flop) but if you saw it you would never forget it. Given a chance, my foot would definitely leave it's mark on you. Sometimes, I don't even notice my left foot's in the room. What? Am I the only person here who has a favourite foot?
To be honest, the boring left foot might be boring and dull and boring but it's definitely the one with the looks. My sassy, bad-ass right foot has all the moves but looks like an inflated rubber glove.
Stupid things are still happening. Not many but some so stupid it defies any sense. I have a Star Wars Darth Vader shaped chocolate bar on a stick in my spare room. It's part of the not quite tidied away Museum of Star Wars that takes up six shelves in that room. I was doing a spot of writing the other day when I heard the fistle of tin foil. At first I thought it was a mouse. A mouse made of tin foil. I looked round and saw the Darth Vader chocolate move all on it's own. Weird, I thought. Chocolate doesn't normally move of it's own freewill. That might be the strangest thing that I will see today.
Then it blew up. It FUCKING BLEW UP! Right in front of me. One minute it was just another piece of Attack Of The Clones merchandise that I'll regret ever owning and ignore forever and then the next it was like Hiroshima in there. But smaller. And more chocolatey. I've asked all sort of science experts (well, dicks on Twitter) and no one can explain what happened. Does spontaneous combustion really effect confectionery like it does that man who was just a leg and a burnt out chair in that photograph I used to spend hours looking at in 1976? I took a picture of it in case Arthur C. Clarke wants it for another volume of Mysterious World. If you know what happened please tell me. It's just fucking freaky.
I'm still angry. That's nice, eh? And I have someone to take my anger out on: George Lucas.
Maybe the exploding Darth Vader chocolate was a sign. An omen. A message from the future about the horror that is to come. You see, I'm a 42 year old man that refuses to let go of his childhood and George Lucas is an insane destroyer of his own work and therefore my childhood memories. I saw Star Wars 5 times in 1977 for a very good reason: it was the single greatest thing I had ever seen in my life. In fact, to this day, I'm not sure that there is anything better than the original Star Wars film. Nothing has effected me more than that film. I read all the comics, I bought all the toys, I lived amongst the everything of Star Wars. My clothes, bedsheets, schoolbooks and skin all had Star Wars written on them. For me, aged 9 or 42, this wasn't just a film it was a cultural change. The design of the TIE Fighter alone means more to me than anything Elvis ever did.
In 1999, like most men in their early 30's, I lost sleep over the excitement of seeing The Phantom Menace but in hindsight I shouldn't have. The clues that being shit was it's destiny were there already with the release of the original trilogy's Special Editions. A Jawa falling off a dinosaur's back is the peak of George Lucas' sense of humour. It was completely pointless. And what was really so wrong with the Ewok's victory song that they had to get a new one? What's the fucking difference?
And now he's releasing all six Star Wars films in 3D. That's right, we'll be able to have Jar-Jar in our fucking face instead of just on a screen. What George Lucas doesn't understand is that these films aren't his. They're mine. He gave them to me. You can't just buy someone a present and every few years take it back and stick shit all over it. "Look, Mum. I bought you some flowers. Now every few years I'll punch you in the teeth". But I've come up with a plan...
George Lucas has to be stopped and I have decided that I must stop him. Here's the scheme, and it's taken a lot of thought and planning but I hope you can grasp the basics of it: When Star Wars 3D comes out....let's not go. Let's just ignore it. If your kids want to see it just remember that that's why you hit kids. I'm thinking of having a child just so I can not take it to see Star Wars 3D. My child will never reach out and "throttle" Dexter Jettster or be bored rigid in the skies of Coruscant flying after Zam Wessell. And George fucking Lucas won't get another penny from me. I have the films on DVD. That's it. That's all I need. Dagobah looks a shithole, why would I want to feel like I'm really there? It'll be about £15 to see it in IMAX. Why not give that money straight to some independent film company who might make something good?
You can write this shit, George, but you sure as hell can't watch it.
www.michaellegge.info
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Swell.
So now I have a big foot. I mean that's what I really need; a big foot. What next? Fat hands? Massive ear? Huge penis? That would just be my luck to end up having a penis that was big. Big, like my foot.
Over the past couple of days my right foot has hurt. That crappy pain that makes you have to totally prepare yourself for standing up because your foot has decided overnight to turn you into an 85 year old. It took me about 5 minutes to walk downstairs yesterday and my foot looked really big. A big, big foot. Maybe it's broken? You hear about that sort of thing all the time, don't you? A man who had trouble hearing but he didn't make a big deal about it and left it for six months until his wife told him he HAD to go to the doctors. Turned out, he had a broken foot. And that girl who had a bad back. Never had a bad back in her life. She tried everything. Stretching, yoga, ignoring it. Turns out, she was pregnant. And the baby had a broken foot. So, although I have no memory of ever breaking my foot, I started to get convinced that I had got drunk and punched my foot for looking at me funny. I really best go to the hospital.
Later.
I don't go to hospital right away. I'm allergic to my own health and I know I'll be fine if I just ignore it. Once I give the state of my health any attention then I know I will be given weeks to live. It took a lot for me to actually consider going to the hospital so no-one could complain if I didn't go there right away. My foot might be broken, I know that. So before I go to the hospital I'll go for a long walk. That'll help my snapped bones.
Weirdly, it did. Hmmmm...this isn't a broken foot, is it? I've just got a big foot. That's the medical condition that I've been lumbered with. A big foot. How are the youths of Britain supposed to adore me when I'm on stage now? "Yes! He is a spokesperson for 2010 with his opinions on Lidl and funny aprons", they will cry. "But he has a big foot. We cannot listen to a man with a big foot. Go away, you big footed old nothing". I will try to explain that it's all fine, Daniel Kitson has his stutter and Russell Howard has his eyes, it's only a big foot. Come back! But they will just walk away. A stutter and his eyes are acceptable disabilities. A big foot is laughable and no-one wants to laugh at a comedian in 2010.
I am finished.
So I eventually went to A&E at Lewisham hospital. The receptionist asked me a series of questions, not all of which I understood. "What is your name? Address? Do you smoke? Have you ever smoked? Does your job entail cycling? Do you use your feet? Are you currently online? What went wrong with Heroes?" Then I took my seat and waited. I looked at my big foot and started to thing the worst. It's going to come off, isn't it? I've got gangrene and it's spreading fast and I'm going to have lose one of my favourite feet in the world. Everyone else in this waiting room is in for trivial things yet they will all get seen before me despite the fact that I AM A BIG FOOT SUFFERER WHO WILL BE LOSING HIS BIG FOOT A BIT LATER. Everyone around me all seemed to be in for the same thing anyway. They've obviously all been kissing Captain Kirk: http://youtu.be/0VuIShM5kAQ
Luckily I was seen by an expert who confirmed everything I had feared. "It is big", she said. I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT. MY FOOT IS BIG AND NOW I'M GOING TO DIE. I'M GOING TO DIE OF BIG. MY FOOT HAS TOO MUCH BIG AND NOW I MUST DIEEEEEE!!!!!
Calm down. The good news is that it's not broken. The gooder news is that it won't be big for long. The great news is that I have inflamed tendons. I can't really explain why I was happy to hear that my tendons are inflamed but I am. I know that it's definitely something about me being such a grumpy bastard that even my tendons are inflamed. My foot isn't just big, it's furious.
So now I have lots and lots of pain killers and very feeble and pathetic exercises to do every day to reduce big foot to just foot. I'll miss my angry foot really. There was so much of me in it. Of course, the worst thing about being a bit poorly is that I can't have my normal cure for all diseases; an egg beat up in a cup. My vegan brain won't let me. But vegan's have an alternative so I gave it a try. Scrambled tofu. What it lacks in taste is what I don't like about it.
www.michaellegge.info
Over the past couple of days my right foot has hurt. That crappy pain that makes you have to totally prepare yourself for standing up because your foot has decided overnight to turn you into an 85 year old. It took me about 5 minutes to walk downstairs yesterday and my foot looked really big. A big, big foot. Maybe it's broken? You hear about that sort of thing all the time, don't you? A man who had trouble hearing but he didn't make a big deal about it and left it for six months until his wife told him he HAD to go to the doctors. Turned out, he had a broken foot. And that girl who had a bad back. Never had a bad back in her life. She tried everything. Stretching, yoga, ignoring it. Turns out, she was pregnant. And the baby had a broken foot. So, although I have no memory of ever breaking my foot, I started to get convinced that I had got drunk and punched my foot for looking at me funny. I really best go to the hospital.
Later.
I don't go to hospital right away. I'm allergic to my own health and I know I'll be fine if I just ignore it. Once I give the state of my health any attention then I know I will be given weeks to live. It took a lot for me to actually consider going to the hospital so no-one could complain if I didn't go there right away. My foot might be broken, I know that. So before I go to the hospital I'll go for a long walk. That'll help my snapped bones.
Weirdly, it did. Hmmmm...this isn't a broken foot, is it? I've just got a big foot. That's the medical condition that I've been lumbered with. A big foot. How are the youths of Britain supposed to adore me when I'm on stage now? "Yes! He is a spokesperson for 2010 with his opinions on Lidl and funny aprons", they will cry. "But he has a big foot. We cannot listen to a man with a big foot. Go away, you big footed old nothing". I will try to explain that it's all fine, Daniel Kitson has his stutter and Russell Howard has his eyes, it's only a big foot. Come back! But they will just walk away. A stutter and his eyes are acceptable disabilities. A big foot is laughable and no-one wants to laugh at a comedian in 2010.
I am finished.
So I eventually went to A&E at Lewisham hospital. The receptionist asked me a series of questions, not all of which I understood. "What is your name? Address? Do you smoke? Have you ever smoked? Does your job entail cycling? Do you use your feet? Are you currently online? What went wrong with Heroes?" Then I took my seat and waited. I looked at my big foot and started to thing the worst. It's going to come off, isn't it? I've got gangrene and it's spreading fast and I'm going to have lose one of my favourite feet in the world. Everyone else in this waiting room is in for trivial things yet they will all get seen before me despite the fact that I AM A BIG FOOT SUFFERER WHO WILL BE LOSING HIS BIG FOOT A BIT LATER. Everyone around me all seemed to be in for the same thing anyway. They've obviously all been kissing Captain Kirk: http://youtu.be/0VuIShM5kAQ
Luckily I was seen by an expert who confirmed everything I had feared. "It is big", she said. I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT. MY FOOT IS BIG AND NOW I'M GOING TO DIE. I'M GOING TO DIE OF BIG. MY FOOT HAS TOO MUCH BIG AND NOW I MUST DIEEEEEE!!!!!
Calm down. The good news is that it's not broken. The gooder news is that it won't be big for long. The great news is that I have inflamed tendons. I can't really explain why I was happy to hear that my tendons are inflamed but I am. I know that it's definitely something about me being such a grumpy bastard that even my tendons are inflamed. My foot isn't just big, it's furious.
So now I have lots and lots of pain killers and very feeble and pathetic exercises to do every day to reduce big foot to just foot. I'll miss my angry foot really. There was so much of me in it. Of course, the worst thing about being a bit poorly is that I can't have my normal cure for all diseases; an egg beat up in a cup. My vegan brain won't let me. But vegan's have an alternative so I gave it a try. Scrambled tofu. What it lacks in taste is what I don't like about it.
www.michaellegge.info
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
River Failure.
Sometimes I don't really like living in Lewisham. I'm very lucky in that I live two minutes from Ladywell train station and my street is nice. Basically I don't need to see too much of Lewisham that often but when I do it's not always great. It's not very clean, the people who frequent the High Street are spontaneous (that's the best I can say about them) and it's really loud. There is never, I mean NEVER, a time that I use my phone while walking down Lewisham High Street and the call isn't interrupted by sirens.
But there are times when it is so magical that I can't imagine living anywhere else. Sunday was one of those days.
I walked Jerk in the park, another generally uncomfortable place to be in Lewisham. At least the park looks nice. Lovely winding river, nice little bridges, beautiful trees and bright green exotic birds that have shunned South America to make Lewisham their home. But the people...well, you know what people are like. I'd only been in the park 10 minutes when I saw this guy. This amazing guy who is just so Lewisham his name should Rock J. Lewisham. Let's call him that. Rock was in the park walking his 3 beautiful big dogs. The dogs were happily running around and playing. No matter what you might think about Rock, his dogs obviously love him. All 3 of the dogs leapt over the river with the grace of a ballerina and now it was Rock's turn to do the same.
No. Surely not. Rock's not going to leap over the river. No. He'll never make it. And anyway, there's a bridge right there. I mean, it's RIGHT THERE. Rock only needs to walk 10 seconds to his right and he'll be on the bridge. In 15 seconds time, he'll be over the bridge and with his dogs. There is no way that Rock is going to leap that river.
But, you know what Rock's like. He has to prove, at all times of the day, every single day of every year, that he is Rock J. Lewisham. Rock took a running jump.
I mean, yes, OBVIOUSLY he landed in the middle of the river but that wasn't enough. Oh, no. He just HAD to lose his footing and fall right in. Instead of walking those few feet to the right and using that bridge like us dicks would have, Rock sank into the river like a, I dunno, a stone or something. He splashed around for a bit and then crawled up the river bank on the same side as his dogs. That's when he stood up and turned to face the river. Rock J. Lewisham then pointed at the river and shouted at it.
Rock J. Lewisham gave that river such a bollocking. I know that a much bigger river, The Nile say, probably could have taken a loud, swear-filled ticking off but the tiny wee Ravensbourne that cuts through Ladywell must have been quaking. But was that enough? Rock is, after all, a gentleman and this cheeky sod of a river had robbed him of his precious dignity. Time for Rock to get it back. That's when Rock J. Lewisham got his cock out and pissed in the river.
"Fuck you, River", Rock must have thought. "I'm covered in you, now you're covered in me. Chessmate".
Who would have ever wanted to miss that? The very theatre of life playing at all times at Lewisham whether you like it or not.
www.michaellegge.info
But there are times when it is so magical that I can't imagine living anywhere else. Sunday was one of those days.
I walked Jerk in the park, another generally uncomfortable place to be in Lewisham. At least the park looks nice. Lovely winding river, nice little bridges, beautiful trees and bright green exotic birds that have shunned South America to make Lewisham their home. But the people...well, you know what people are like. I'd only been in the park 10 minutes when I saw this guy. This amazing guy who is just so Lewisham his name should Rock J. Lewisham. Let's call him that. Rock was in the park walking his 3 beautiful big dogs. The dogs were happily running around and playing. No matter what you might think about Rock, his dogs obviously love him. All 3 of the dogs leapt over the river with the grace of a ballerina and now it was Rock's turn to do the same.
No. Surely not. Rock's not going to leap over the river. No. He'll never make it. And anyway, there's a bridge right there. I mean, it's RIGHT THERE. Rock only needs to walk 10 seconds to his right and he'll be on the bridge. In 15 seconds time, he'll be over the bridge and with his dogs. There is no way that Rock is going to leap that river.
But, you know what Rock's like. He has to prove, at all times of the day, every single day of every year, that he is Rock J. Lewisham. Rock took a running jump.
I mean, yes, OBVIOUSLY he landed in the middle of the river but that wasn't enough. Oh, no. He just HAD to lose his footing and fall right in. Instead of walking those few feet to the right and using that bridge like us dicks would have, Rock sank into the river like a, I dunno, a stone or something. He splashed around for a bit and then crawled up the river bank on the same side as his dogs. That's when he stood up and turned to face the river. Rock J. Lewisham then pointed at the river and shouted at it.
Rock J. Lewisham gave that river such a bollocking. I know that a much bigger river, The Nile say, probably could have taken a loud, swear-filled ticking off but the tiny wee Ravensbourne that cuts through Ladywell must have been quaking. But was that enough? Rock is, after all, a gentleman and this cheeky sod of a river had robbed him of his precious dignity. Time for Rock to get it back. That's when Rock J. Lewisham got his cock out and pissed in the river.
"Fuck you, River", Rock must have thought. "I'm covered in you, now you're covered in me. Chessmate".
Who would have ever wanted to miss that? The very theatre of life playing at all times at Lewisham whether you like it or not.
www.michaellegge.info
Thursday, 16 September 2010
(v) Denotes Very Annoying.
There are a lot of things that can stop you being vegan. Even buying a pair of jeans isn't always a vegan thing. Jeans makers insist on putting a little bit of leather on the belt loop of their jeans to advertise their brand. I mean, you've already bought the jeans. There's very little else that you can do. It's like adverts promoting going to the cinema while you're at the cinema. I'm at the cinema, you can calm the fuck down.
Most restaurants have a vegetarian option but not always vegan. You find out every single day that yet another thing you previously liked has goats milk or bull sperm in it. Bits of animal just seem to be everywhere. It's a drag but one that has it's rewards. All of a sudden I'm eating food that I normally wouldn't and I'm cooking new stuff. Big chunky curries, red pepper and carrot soup, fucking amazing bean salad with spicy courgette (I invented that). That's the easiest way to be vegan: just cook for yourself. Most places won't cater for you and the ones that do are bollock-burstingly infuriating. That's what puts you off being vegan most. Fucking stupid vegans.
What is a vegan? Well, from what I can gather vegans are generally physically beautiful people who are trying their best to look like a big pile of shit. Most succeed. They also want to make everything as awkward as humanly possible. There are really only three vegan restaurants I've been to since becoming vegan but I can only recommend one of them. All three have got their good points but only David Bann's in Edinburgh have got it right. It's a clever set-up: people who look like they wash regularly show you to your table. Then, after you have chosen from the menu, they bring you your meal. It's different but it works. Hendersons, also in Edinburgh, doesn't do that.
During the Fringe I really wanted to persuade the cast of Gutted to join me for a meal at Hendersons, just so they could see how great it is to be meat-free. The whole experience made me want to survive on nothing other than antelope blood. HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU GET GIVING PEOPLE FOOD SO FUCKING WRONG? You queue for fucking ages at the buffet. You choose your food. Then they tell you to take a seat, they'll bring you your dinner in about half a fucking hour. I just queued up for a buffet. Surely that just means handing me my food? Don't be so ridiculous, Michael. That's how an evil carnivorous meat-eating buffet works. Vegan buffets are powered by candles and incense and terrible dreadlocks and clogs and wishing. It takes fucking ages. Now go and take your seat and wait for far longer than necessary. Don't worry, you can have your dessert now. That'll tide you over until your Lentil Mystery turns up.
So I took my dessert into the oak-riddled dining room and tried to eat it while listening to a bearded jumper playing an acoustic guitar. It was like being in a vegan restaurant dreamt up by bad sit-com writers. I was embarrassed. Don't think many Gutted's gave up eating meat that night. Stupid Legge.
Last night I went to InSpiral Lounge, a vegan restaurant run by tramps, by the look of things. InSpiral is in Camden Town and it is painfully vegan. I mean, wow. Rice beer, cous-cous gravy, hemp steaks, breast of dandelion, grass kebabs, thin-air burgers. Again, you have to queue up buffet style to get your food (I went for the carrot zebra) and it wasn't long before I was completely ignored. What with not having actual human faeces in my hair, piercings all over my face, a fold-up bicycle under my arm and those ridiculous big wooden hoops the mentally away twats put in their earlobes, they just didn't see me. The guy behind me got served first and no amount of noise I made about it made any difference. Chillax, man. You're going to get served real soon. FUCK OFF, YOU UNWASHED PRICK. Then, when I got my food and went to the other washed out (but not actually washed) hairy ghost at the till, I still had to wait for her to deal with a fucking moron who just appeared out of nowhere. The moron wanted to text his friend the names of some of the food served at InSpiral. Fair enough. That will only be a second, right? WRONG! The moron can't write in English so hairy ghost has to spell EVERYTHING. "Small filled bagel. That's small s-m-a-l-l. Filled f-i-l-l-e-d. Bagel b-a-g-e-l. Vegan cream cheese. That's vegan v-e-g-a-n. Cream c-r..."
I had gone mad by this time. FUCK OFF. That's fuck fuh-uh-uck. Off oh-phffffffffffffff.
The thing I should be pointing out about these two incredibly annoying places is that the food is amazing. Really delicious. It's just a complete trial getting it. I'll probably go back to InSpiral because the food is amazing and all the booze is vegan but I'll mentally prepare myself before I go through their sunflower oil door. Also, they have a sign on their front window saying "We're breast feeding friendly". Well, not all of them were.
HA HA HA! Brilliant.
After dinner last night I went to the Bull & Gate in Kentish Town to see Jim Bob and Tim Ten Yen live and in concert. The opening act was called Pete and had his rock n' roll coolness of turning up late totally ruined by going round the crowd afterwards adding their names to his mailing list. Good lyricist though. "Come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, I'll be waiting by the sea" was one that caught my ear. Hang on, Pete. You want me to come with you but you're already there? Plus, I need a clearer address than "by the sea". I don't think this Pete wants me to come with him at all. Sir, good day.
Tim Ten Yen was next and was wonderful. I'm a big fan anyway but it was lovely seeing so many other people loving him too. He's upbeat and sinister, joyous and awkward. You'd like him. Apart from his excellent songs, his between song banter was just hilarious. He's a very funny man. And ADORABLE! He dedicated When The Song Applies To You. Then ruined it by dedicating the next song to someone else. Then the next song was dedicated to everyone in the room. Yeah. Good one, Tim. I feel really special now. You should definitely buy his stuff. Seeing Jim Bob on stage was amazing. His songs are funny and angry and clever and they are obviously adored by his fans. But really it was great to see Jim from Gutted on stage doing songs that weren't in Gutted, like he had some sort of life before Gutted came along and made us all famous. I've read Jim's novel, Storage Stories, and bought four of his albums plus I got to hang out with him for a month. Like everyone, I only have great things to say about him and everything he does. He is, you know, great. Plus lots of Gutted's were there so it was like a reunion. The whole cast joined Jim on stage at the end for a brilliant version of This Is Love.
That last bit never happened.
My dog just coughed something green on to my leg. I must go.
www.jim-bob.co.uk
www.timtenyen.com
www.michaellegge.info
Most restaurants have a vegetarian option but not always vegan. You find out every single day that yet another thing you previously liked has goats milk or bull sperm in it. Bits of animal just seem to be everywhere. It's a drag but one that has it's rewards. All of a sudden I'm eating food that I normally wouldn't and I'm cooking new stuff. Big chunky curries, red pepper and carrot soup, fucking amazing bean salad with spicy courgette (I invented that). That's the easiest way to be vegan: just cook for yourself. Most places won't cater for you and the ones that do are bollock-burstingly infuriating. That's what puts you off being vegan most. Fucking stupid vegans.
What is a vegan? Well, from what I can gather vegans are generally physically beautiful people who are trying their best to look like a big pile of shit. Most succeed. They also want to make everything as awkward as humanly possible. There are really only three vegan restaurants I've been to since becoming vegan but I can only recommend one of them. All three have got their good points but only David Bann's in Edinburgh have got it right. It's a clever set-up: people who look like they wash regularly show you to your table. Then, after you have chosen from the menu, they bring you your meal. It's different but it works. Hendersons, also in Edinburgh, doesn't do that.
During the Fringe I really wanted to persuade the cast of Gutted to join me for a meal at Hendersons, just so they could see how great it is to be meat-free. The whole experience made me want to survive on nothing other than antelope blood. HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU GET GIVING PEOPLE FOOD SO FUCKING WRONG? You queue for fucking ages at the buffet. You choose your food. Then they tell you to take a seat, they'll bring you your dinner in about half a fucking hour. I just queued up for a buffet. Surely that just means handing me my food? Don't be so ridiculous, Michael. That's how an evil carnivorous meat-eating buffet works. Vegan buffets are powered by candles and incense and terrible dreadlocks and clogs and wishing. It takes fucking ages. Now go and take your seat and wait for far longer than necessary. Don't worry, you can have your dessert now. That'll tide you over until your Lentil Mystery turns up.
So I took my dessert into the oak-riddled dining room and tried to eat it while listening to a bearded jumper playing an acoustic guitar. It was like being in a vegan restaurant dreamt up by bad sit-com writers. I was embarrassed. Don't think many Gutted's gave up eating meat that night. Stupid Legge.
Last night I went to InSpiral Lounge, a vegan restaurant run by tramps, by the look of things. InSpiral is in Camden Town and it is painfully vegan. I mean, wow. Rice beer, cous-cous gravy, hemp steaks, breast of dandelion, grass kebabs, thin-air burgers. Again, you have to queue up buffet style to get your food (I went for the carrot zebra) and it wasn't long before I was completely ignored. What with not having actual human faeces in my hair, piercings all over my face, a fold-up bicycle under my arm and those ridiculous big wooden hoops the mentally away twats put in their earlobes, they just didn't see me. The guy behind me got served first and no amount of noise I made about it made any difference. Chillax, man. You're going to get served real soon. FUCK OFF, YOU UNWASHED PRICK. Then, when I got my food and went to the other washed out (but not actually washed) hairy ghost at the till, I still had to wait for her to deal with a fucking moron who just appeared out of nowhere. The moron wanted to text his friend the names of some of the food served at InSpiral. Fair enough. That will only be a second, right? WRONG! The moron can't write in English so hairy ghost has to spell EVERYTHING. "Small filled bagel. That's small s-m-a-l-l. Filled f-i-l-l-e-d. Bagel b-a-g-e-l. Vegan cream cheese. That's vegan v-e-g-a-n. Cream c-r..."
I had gone mad by this time. FUCK OFF. That's fuck fuh-uh-uck. Off oh-phffffffffffffff.
The thing I should be pointing out about these two incredibly annoying places is that the food is amazing. Really delicious. It's just a complete trial getting it. I'll probably go back to InSpiral because the food is amazing and all the booze is vegan but I'll mentally prepare myself before I go through their sunflower oil door. Also, they have a sign on their front window saying "We're breast feeding friendly". Well, not all of them were.
HA HA HA! Brilliant.
After dinner last night I went to the Bull & Gate in Kentish Town to see Jim Bob and Tim Ten Yen live and in concert. The opening act was called Pete and had his rock n' roll coolness of turning up late totally ruined by going round the crowd afterwards adding their names to his mailing list. Good lyricist though. "Come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, come with me, I'll be waiting by the sea" was one that caught my ear. Hang on, Pete. You want me to come with you but you're already there? Plus, I need a clearer address than "by the sea". I don't think this Pete wants me to come with him at all. Sir, good day.
Tim Ten Yen was next and was wonderful. I'm a big fan anyway but it was lovely seeing so many other people loving him too. He's upbeat and sinister, joyous and awkward. You'd like him. Apart from his excellent songs, his between song banter was just hilarious. He's a very funny man. And ADORABLE! He dedicated When The Song Applies To You. Then ruined it by dedicating the next song to someone else. Then the next song was dedicated to everyone in the room. Yeah. Good one, Tim. I feel really special now. You should definitely buy his stuff. Seeing Jim Bob on stage was amazing. His songs are funny and angry and clever and they are obviously adored by his fans. But really it was great to see Jim from Gutted on stage doing songs that weren't in Gutted, like he had some sort of life before Gutted came along and made us all famous. I've read Jim's novel, Storage Stories, and bought four of his albums plus I got to hang out with him for a month. Like everyone, I only have great things to say about him and everything he does. He is, you know, great. Plus lots of Gutted's were there so it was like a reunion. The whole cast joined Jim on stage at the end for a brilliant version of This Is Love.
That last bit never happened.
My dog just coughed something green on to my leg. I must go.
www.jim-bob.co.uk
www.timtenyen.com
www.michaellegge.info
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Unsomnia.
I went to see Inception and now I have an opinion of the whole of mankind. You either hate Inception or you're a fucking idiot. Obviously, people who haven't seen it are also allowed to hate it but they can't just say "Oh, I haven't seen that yet" because that implies that you want to see it. In other words, you like it. In other words, you're a fucking idiot.
It's been a while since I've seen a film quite as bad as Inception but, to give it it's dues, it started really well. Not the film, but the film experience. I saw it in a cinema in Cardiff. That doesn't sound so great? OK, how's this? I saw it in an EMPTY cinema in Cardiff. Yeah, that's pretty cool. Having the cinema to yourself is fantastic. It's only happened to me once before and that was a long time ago. The Pope Must Die, which surely should have a re-release this week. I can sit where I like, I can keep my phone on, I can whistle. Whistling in the cinema! Have you ever known such decadence?
I watched the trailers and got angry because somehow this is a real film and not a pisstake: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hq27k6njR40
So, not off to a great start but I had heard so many great things about Inception so time to relax into my seat and enjoy it.
JESUS CHRIST, IT'S JUST SO FUCKING BORED. I HATE IT. IT'S ONLY BEEN ON 17 SECONDS AND I WANT TO SMASH MY OWN FACE IN WITH A BASTARD HAMMER. I'VE NEVER EVER FELT SO BORED AND ALONE AND DEPRESSED AND CUT OFF FROM EXISTENCE AS I DO RIGHT NOW.
Basically, Inception is a po-faced, earnest and entirely tedious version of Tron. Something that can't ever happen is happening and we will act like it is the most serious thing to have ever been written despite it being 100% ridiculous and pointless. Don't worry if you're planning on watching Inception (although I recommend you never, ever do that), I won't be spoiling the film here in this blog. The film is already spoiled. That's got nothing to do with me.
Dream invasion doesn't exist but that's OK because we can all use our imaginations and pretend it does. Fine. Good. Invading people's dreams to take information from them. Good idea. All fine. Leonado DiCaprio plays Cobb, a man who is the BEST and stealing information from dreams. Erm...OK. But don't push it. He's also an American who can never return home to see his kids so he lives in France.
Hang on, is he invading dreams as the only way to see his children?
Erm...
MOVE YOUR KIDS TO FRANCE, YOU FUCKING DICK. The realisation that that's what the film is about happens about 50 minutes before the end. I left 10 minutes after that. It's a plot hole so massive that you just can't forgive it or forget it. At least Tron revelled in it's ridiculousness. Inception thinks it's carved out of fucking oak. Wrong director, wrong actors. These people are too worthy for such a bubblegum premise. Even McG directing Vin Diesel in Inception would have been better. Trying to make something enjoyably stupid into something seriously credible ruined it. And Leonardo DiCaprio will always look like a little boy wearing his Dad's suit to a job interview for the rest of his life. Rubbish.
The rest of my weekend was nice though. All good gigs at The Glee in Cardiff and then Robin Ince and I got the old band back together for the End Of The Road Festival. It was just brilliant to be doing Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire again. Just as all over the place as before. Dropping material and not getting to the end. Fun. Afterwards Robin signed copies of his book. So did I, which I don't think is the spirit of book signings. They definitely should be your books that you're signing, no? I decided to stay overnight at the festival while Robin got back in his pensioner bus to start the sing-song on the way home. I stayed for the people not the bands. It was nice to see a lot of friends there and I either didn't really like the bands or I didn't know who they were. Errors and Drum Eyes were excellent. I had heard of Adam Green, though. I wish I hadn't. He's an awful twat. I see a lot of Har Mar Superstar in him and you shouldn't see that in anyone. Allow me to inflict him on you now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1NHmikc4BU
www.michaellegge.info
It's been a while since I've seen a film quite as bad as Inception but, to give it it's dues, it started really well. Not the film, but the film experience. I saw it in a cinema in Cardiff. That doesn't sound so great? OK, how's this? I saw it in an EMPTY cinema in Cardiff. Yeah, that's pretty cool. Having the cinema to yourself is fantastic. It's only happened to me once before and that was a long time ago. The Pope Must Die, which surely should have a re-release this week. I can sit where I like, I can keep my phone on, I can whistle. Whistling in the cinema! Have you ever known such decadence?
I watched the trailers and got angry because somehow this is a real film and not a pisstake: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hq27k6njR40
So, not off to a great start but I had heard so many great things about Inception so time to relax into my seat and enjoy it.
JESUS CHRIST, IT'S JUST SO FUCKING BORED. I HATE IT. IT'S ONLY BEEN ON 17 SECONDS AND I WANT TO SMASH MY OWN FACE IN WITH A BASTARD HAMMER. I'VE NEVER EVER FELT SO BORED AND ALONE AND DEPRESSED AND CUT OFF FROM EXISTENCE AS I DO RIGHT NOW.
Basically, Inception is a po-faced, earnest and entirely tedious version of Tron. Something that can't ever happen is happening and we will act like it is the most serious thing to have ever been written despite it being 100% ridiculous and pointless. Don't worry if you're planning on watching Inception (although I recommend you never, ever do that), I won't be spoiling the film here in this blog. The film is already spoiled. That's got nothing to do with me.
Dream invasion doesn't exist but that's OK because we can all use our imaginations and pretend it does. Fine. Good. Invading people's dreams to take information from them. Good idea. All fine. Leonado DiCaprio plays Cobb, a man who is the BEST and stealing information from dreams. Erm...OK. But don't push it. He's also an American who can never return home to see his kids so he lives in France.
Hang on, is he invading dreams as the only way to see his children?
Erm...
MOVE YOUR KIDS TO FRANCE, YOU FUCKING DICK. The realisation that that's what the film is about happens about 50 minutes before the end. I left 10 minutes after that. It's a plot hole so massive that you just can't forgive it or forget it. At least Tron revelled in it's ridiculousness. Inception thinks it's carved out of fucking oak. Wrong director, wrong actors. These people are too worthy for such a bubblegum premise. Even McG directing Vin Diesel in Inception would have been better. Trying to make something enjoyably stupid into something seriously credible ruined it. And Leonardo DiCaprio will always look like a little boy wearing his Dad's suit to a job interview for the rest of his life. Rubbish.
The rest of my weekend was nice though. All good gigs at The Glee in Cardiff and then Robin Ince and I got the old band back together for the End Of The Road Festival. It was just brilliant to be doing Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire again. Just as all over the place as before. Dropping material and not getting to the end. Fun. Afterwards Robin signed copies of his book. So did I, which I don't think is the spirit of book signings. They definitely should be your books that you're signing, no? I decided to stay overnight at the festival while Robin got back in his pensioner bus to start the sing-song on the way home. I stayed for the people not the bands. It was nice to see a lot of friends there and I either didn't really like the bands or I didn't know who they were. Errors and Drum Eyes were excellent. I had heard of Adam Green, though. I wish I hadn't. He's an awful twat. I see a lot of Har Mar Superstar in him and you shouldn't see that in anyone. Allow me to inflict him on you now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1NHmikc4BU
www.michaellegge.info
Friday, 10 September 2010
An Evil Man From Austria.
I mean there are pricks are there are PRICKS. This guy I saw on a train in Vienna is not a prick. He is a PRICK.
You may have detected a fair bit of complaining about people in this blog but this guy will be despised by you and you've never even seen him. Luckily, like you, I am a Buddhist or some shit and didn't punch his face in despite that very thing being the only thought in my head. Muki and I got on the Vienna underground train to go to the zoo. I'd heard lots of good things about Vienna zoo and, as the pandas there had just had a cub, figured it was pretty ethical. Ethical. Funny word. Doesn't mean much to some people. Anyway, three youths got on the train and sat down. They looked about 16/17 years old. They were soon joined by a fourth youth who saw them get on, recognised them and rushed over to join them. He probably knew them from school or something. The big difference between him and the other three was that he had Downs Syndrome.
Feeling uncomfortable yet? You know something bad is going to happen, right? Well, it's worse than you think.
Two of the three youths started hiding their laughs behind their hat and bag but they had very good reason to find someone with Downs Syndrome funny. Firstly, he had an FBI pass in his wallet and that is funny no matter what and, secondly, they are teenagers. They are young and full of peer pressure and figuring out how to be cool and laughing at people with Downs Syndrome is the coolest thing in the world when you're young. Fuck taking crack and dying in a plane crash after your first platinum selling, iconic album. Just point and laugh at a spaz and you are as cool as Bono (you are. Really). But one of the youths didn't laugh. He talked to the guy and was incredibly friendly to him. He probably didn't want to because that will make him as cool as Adam Clayton but he did it. I liked this youth. He was obviously just a nice lad. Plus his phone was shit. My theory really is working out. Then I noticed the PRICK.
I first noticed the PRICK by way of his laughter. Even his laugh is a PRICK. The two youths hiding their faces had stopped laughing but I still heard laughing. That was a little confusing for a second but I looked up and across the train and sure enough there was the PRICK laughing away. It looked like he was laughing at the guy with Downs Syndrome but he couldn't be. I mean, he's in his 50's. He can't be openly laughing and pointing at a guy with Downs Syndrome. Can he?
He then got his camera out and took a photo of the guy with Downs Syndrome.
My brain was totally confused. Did I really just see what I thought I saw? As the man showed the photo to his family (who weren't interested) and laughed I pretty much realised that I really had just seen that. In real life. Then Muki said "Did you fucking see that?"
What a fucking PRICK. I made a vow that no matter what happens I won't start a fight with anyone on a train while I'm with Muki. It's written down somewhere. And that is a shame because it would have been beautiful to go over there and tell the fucking cunt how much I want to punch his ugly, useless, grinning face in and then have Muki translate it into German for me. I made the vow to not fight but there was nothing said about staring. A stare is a powerful thing it turns out.
I stared at him so blatantly that he had no choice but to make eye contact. He looked away and then back again several times just to check that I was actually staring at him. Soon his big grin dropped as did the penny. You could tell that he knew he'd been caught doing something that was horrible. For the rest of the journey (about 15 minutes) I barely blinked and even when he wasn't looking at me he was looking at me. Guilted.
The PRICK was also going to the zoo and we saw him by the rhino enclosure. I wanted to see the rhino but Muki couldn't bare to be in the same space as him. One push over the fence and she wouldn't have to be.
If you are Austrian and someone shows you their photos of Vienna zoo and you see a picture of a boy with Downs Syndrome and an FBI pass on a train please punch that person in the face for me. I don't like him.
www.michaellegge.info
You may have detected a fair bit of complaining about people in this blog but this guy will be despised by you and you've never even seen him. Luckily, like you, I am a Buddhist or some shit and didn't punch his face in despite that very thing being the only thought in my head. Muki and I got on the Vienna underground train to go to the zoo. I'd heard lots of good things about Vienna zoo and, as the pandas there had just had a cub, figured it was pretty ethical. Ethical. Funny word. Doesn't mean much to some people. Anyway, three youths got on the train and sat down. They looked about 16/17 years old. They were soon joined by a fourth youth who saw them get on, recognised them and rushed over to join them. He probably knew them from school or something. The big difference between him and the other three was that he had Downs Syndrome.
Feeling uncomfortable yet? You know something bad is going to happen, right? Well, it's worse than you think.
Two of the three youths started hiding their laughs behind their hat and bag but they had very good reason to find someone with Downs Syndrome funny. Firstly, he had an FBI pass in his wallet and that is funny no matter what and, secondly, they are teenagers. They are young and full of peer pressure and figuring out how to be cool and laughing at people with Downs Syndrome is the coolest thing in the world when you're young. Fuck taking crack and dying in a plane crash after your first platinum selling, iconic album. Just point and laugh at a spaz and you are as cool as Bono (you are. Really). But one of the youths didn't laugh. He talked to the guy and was incredibly friendly to him. He probably didn't want to because that will make him as cool as Adam Clayton but he did it. I liked this youth. He was obviously just a nice lad. Plus his phone was shit. My theory really is working out. Then I noticed the PRICK.
I first noticed the PRICK by way of his laughter. Even his laugh is a PRICK. The two youths hiding their faces had stopped laughing but I still heard laughing. That was a little confusing for a second but I looked up and across the train and sure enough there was the PRICK laughing away. It looked like he was laughing at the guy with Downs Syndrome but he couldn't be. I mean, he's in his 50's. He can't be openly laughing and pointing at a guy with Downs Syndrome. Can he?
He then got his camera out and took a photo of the guy with Downs Syndrome.
My brain was totally confused. Did I really just see what I thought I saw? As the man showed the photo to his family (who weren't interested) and laughed I pretty much realised that I really had just seen that. In real life. Then Muki said "Did you fucking see that?"
What a fucking PRICK. I made a vow that no matter what happens I won't start a fight with anyone on a train while I'm with Muki. It's written down somewhere. And that is a shame because it would have been beautiful to go over there and tell the fucking cunt how much I want to punch his ugly, useless, grinning face in and then have Muki translate it into German for me. I made the vow to not fight but there was nothing said about staring. A stare is a powerful thing it turns out.
I stared at him so blatantly that he had no choice but to make eye contact. He looked away and then back again several times just to check that I was actually staring at him. Soon his big grin dropped as did the penny. You could tell that he knew he'd been caught doing something that was horrible. For the rest of the journey (about 15 minutes) I barely blinked and even when he wasn't looking at me he was looking at me. Guilted.
The PRICK was also going to the zoo and we saw him by the rhino enclosure. I wanted to see the rhino but Muki couldn't bare to be in the same space as him. One push over the fence and she wouldn't have to be.
If you are Austrian and someone shows you their photos of Vienna zoo and you see a picture of a boy with Downs Syndrome and an FBI pass on a train please punch that person in the face for me. I don't like him.
www.michaellegge.info
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