Stop! Hammer Time! This is Domu wishing you all a very warm welcome to the week starting 9th June 2008. It will be remembered for many unbelievable things, and I will prophesise a few of them, here.
The actor Billy Bob Thornton will admit he has the power to raise the dead. He will be flown by Royal appointment to Buckingham Palace, where he will hold secret talks with Prince Phillip to sign a contract to promise that he will never create a zombie Lady Di. Further contractual agreements will include draughts for the un-dead Queen Mother and looking into restoring Prince Williams’ bald patch with a type of zombie hair.
Japan will declare war on Mars. Plans will be unveiled of a 40 foot robotic flying duck that can hold up to 100 skilled warriors and can blast out of the earths’ atmosphere. It will be revealed that Japan, seemingly uninterested in the space race for many years, had somehow secretly harnessed the power of Hyperspace. Scientists, after long hours of studying Star Wars Episode IV (A New Hope), figured out the sequence by slowing down and noting the buttons Han Solo (alias actor Henry Jones) pressed to obtain the jump. “The hardest thing”, said head designer Yuji Kumamoto, “was making it all activate by that little thing that looks like the gear lever on a Chopper bike.” The war on Mars is expected to last between one week and three years.
Britain’s hopes of ever winning another world sporting tournament will be dashed for all eternity it seems, as it is revealed that Baron Coe sold Britain’s soul to Satan to obtain the chance to hold of the 2012 Olympics here. In a leaked tape recording of the pact, the former athlete and member of Parliament, along with former band mate Bootsy Collins, is said to have agreed we would be “rubbish for ever and ever at everything, including long jump.” The agreement, which took place at Wagamama in Soho, London, included: Beelzebub owning the entire nations ability to win at any sport, ever, their immortal souls, Gilles Brandreth’s teddy bear collection and the inclusion of a complimentary Wasabi Ice Cream. Countless numbers of fat, skin-headed beer swilling morons are said to be outraged. “ I cant’ believe it. What’s the point of watching a game if we’re never going to win. I’m going to have to spend some time with my bloody wife and kids now”, one such tattooed imbecile snorted yesterday.
So watch this space, and do say I told you so. In other news, the AD BOURKE beat tape is up for sale on out ithink digital store, so if you like your beats fat like a two day old turd, peep em!
I won’t bore you with my tales of falling gracelessly off the wagon this week. Although one undeniable irony is that I went to Watford for a gig and witnessed some of the most intense street hedonism I have seen in a long while. I drove to this gig, so was completely sober, but the High Street was an incredible sight. Don’t get me wrong, there was a pleasant vibe, it was well lit and felt a bit like being in Gran Canaria or Shag-a-loof. But the sheer amount of pubs and people and kebabs and bare legs and pizza and beer and fags and shouting…I was taken aback. You know the images they use to enforce the problems with male and female binge drinking on the news, when people are lying on the curb dressed as a policeman or angels or whatever. That’s Watford. That said I had a great gig and enjoyed my set there, and broke my Traktor Scratch gig cherry, whatever that means.
So till next week, enjoy the sun responsibly! And down with all sport! Only joking… or am I?
