FUN TIME! From the edge of The Level, I could see the welcoming sight of the funfair. They were just setting up when I saw them and no one was actually having fun yet, but the rides were in place, the caravans were parked and there was a smell of fear in the air. Why on Earth people enjoy going to the funfair is beyond me. I have an aversion to being upside down at high speed, so this sort of mobile death trap bonanza holds no appeal for me. I do love a good wonky-faced paint job, however.

This funfair did not disappoint.

Check it out. Below is the ROCKER. I’ve put it in caps because that’s how it appears on the ride. ROCKER. I would imagine the ride also ROCKS when you’re on it. I wouldn’t know, though, as I’m far too happy with being alive to ever even consider getting on it.

As you can see, it’s a very choice ride. There’s stars galore emblazoned on it. Did you know that when your face is painted on the side of a funfair ride, it’s actually a legal endorsement of the ride? Well it is. Honestly. This means that the ROCKER is endorsed by some of the biggest names in superstardom. Let’s have a look at who is there. 

 Well, firstly your eyes are drawn to Pamela ”Barb Wire“ Anderson. She’s hot, because she has big tits. Big, fast tits, apparently. Or at least, next to the charming neon green and highlighter pen orange CENSORED sign on her nipple that must be poking out of that black corset,  we can see the legend “Bigger Better Faster”. She must be so proud of her tits. I would be. Her face does look a bit squashed, though, and she appears to only be about 15. SO STOP CHECKING HER OUT, WEIRDO.

 Next, no doubt, you’ll have noticed the crudely rendered picture of Shirley Eaton, the Golden Girl from Goldfinger. Did you know that Golden Girl Estelle Getty died recently? It’s true, she did. She died out of sadness that she wasn’t chosen to adorn the side of the ROCKER. It says “Turn it up” next to her. Turn what up?

 Between these two blonde bombshells lies a slightly misshapen James Dean. He died in the wreckage of  a Porsche Spider, after colliding with another car. Are the owners of the ride suggesting that you, too, might lose your life suddenly, encased in shredded metal as the ROCKER shudders and collapses? Can you guarantee that the body you leave behind will have been as beautiful as the Giant star’s? No, of course you can’t. You’re on the internet, for a start.

 Yes, that is Freddy Krueger on the far left.

 As you can see in this stunningly patriotic scene, Freddy Krueger has returned from our nightmares to add the element of fear that the ROCKER needs. If it wasn’t bad enough that self-destructive stars like Pammy and Jimmy were on the side of the ride, then adding a fictional undead serial killer is just the note to strike when attempting to inspire confidence in funfair goers. Again, the image of metal piercing flesh flashes into my mind. Next to him is some sort of chest-baring guitarist and his Les Paul. I have no idea who this chap might be, but he’s clearly very popular in America. I would imagine his songs make you feel like you’re going extra fast when driving a deserted desert highway. Great. 

Not only that, but there are three huge celebrities on the other side of it that really make you feel safe. Naomi Campbell, who may reach down from the side of the ride and slap you in mid-air, can be seen pouting suggestively. But what does this mean? Why, exactly, is she there? Probably for the exact same reason that Freddy is there! And that reason is: The people that paint these rides are fucking insane. They must be. 

 Next to her, you can see a scene from musical history that, thus far, we have sadly been cheated out of in real life. Madonna and Michael Jackson, dancing together. Were two such rock luminaries to come together in reality, peace would be restored on Earth and life would become easy. These two giants of celebrity are the recipe for world harmony. Don’t let the thought of Madonna snatching your kids to sell to Michael Jackson enter your head, because they are both really good people. Really. 

But there are two things that really makes me feel uncomfortable about the ROCKER. Firstly, it’s the giant, fading eyes of Michael Jackson on the back of the ticket booth. He’s watching you. But more importantly, he’s occasionally darting a glance at your kids. I’m not saying that he’s going to touch them up or anything. But he might.

The scariest thing about the ROCKER is the image of Kurt ”BANG OW FUCK“ Cobain, seen as you enter the ride. What this is basically telling you is that you are voluntarily offering your life to the gods as a sacrifice for terrible deeds you have done.

Please pay here. 

That and the incongruous image of Lara Croft. 

Now, this funfair wasn’t all about the ROCKER. No! There was more. There was also the Rotor, which, as you can see from the inset image, had Sacha Baron Cohen’s most lucrative invention on it. Ali G. Is this some sort of pisstake? It says Manumission on it. Has this lumbering hell-ride been dragged all the way from Ibiza to be with us today? What a fucking honour. I feel like some sort of champion.

 Let’s face it. What’s more likely here is that this ride, which I believe spins you around rapidly until you are crying vomit from your eyes, was parked just up the road from Manumission, in some sort of wasteland area, alongside a load of other has-been rides, in an attempt to steal some custom from the sex-crazed superclub. I’m imagining they managed to rope in the dregs that had been drunkenly ejected from everywhere else. Much like this funfair, in fact. 

 The next ride that really caught my eye didn’t actually appear to have a name. I’m going to call it Mad For It, as you can clearly see it written between the heroic Northern pugilists Robbie Williams and Liam Gallagher, seen here mid-bout in the title fight for “Mouthiest Northern Wanker”.  Who can ever forget this great fight? It was only ten years or so ago.

 And as luck would have it, Geri Halliwell is there to straddle some ethereal musical ribbons in support. “Go Robbie!” she’s saying. Yes. Go, Robbie. Go the fuck away you talentless loser. And take Halliwell and Gallagher with you. 

 On the other side of the Mad For It ride, there’s yet more talentless oafs parading around in air-brushed form. Check it out! There’s Louise from Eternal! She married a footballer, you know? You know who I mean. That incredibly plain girl that loads of people fancied until they found out her surname was Nurding. 

 She’s accompanied by Will Smith in a jumpsuit and Tina Turner, who is making a death-defying leap to a giant guitar. This sort of all-action fare hasn’t been seen since Rock City!

 But who the fuck is that in the middle? Is it Bjork, or is it Papa Lazarou?  Whoever it is, the people that own this ride promise that they will, they will rock you. And you have to respect that bold claim. Will you be lovin’ it, like Louise? Or is it just a London thing? 

 I have literally no idea who that mystery DJ is, but you can bet your arse that he’s from London. Because he’s awesome.

 BYE. 

It sort of feels like I’ve done all that overtime for nothing.

Whilst I’m sure that this way of doing things is pretty standard throughout the world of employment, it’s quite an annoyance as the money I was working for was needed now. Not in four fucking weeks time.

I’m sick of wiping the company’s bottom, only to find them flinging the last remnants of poo at me as I sit down to count my beans.

Apologies for this shockingly blog-like post, but I felt the need to vent. What better place to do it than on a page dedicated to me whinging like a little girl?

Now, obviously, I’ll be getting the money at the end of August, so I’ll be flush then, but that doesn’t really help when I’ve worked my arse off in order to cover some sickness-induced time off. I feel like I’ve been robbed. Where’s that whistling chicken? Maybe he can tell me a story about Robin Hood that will warm my heart. I’ll also have the chance to steal any busking money he’s made.

I shall be conducting an experiment in the coming months. I will register on no less than 10 internet forums, all completely unconnected, and attempt to have myself banned from them within 5 days of registering. I will achieve this by trolling, arguing and generally making myself unwelcome.

Of course, my results will be published on here for you all to look over. It’s going to be brilliant.

“What can I do to help, Bud?” I hear you all ask.

Any suggestions of which forums I should target would be greatly appreciated, for a start.

This may seem like a cruel and callous experiment, but the internet is full of very stupid people that are all easily upset. This is your chance to help me measure just how easily this sort of thing can be achieved. Do your bit.

Upset the internet.

I’ll most likely be selecting 10 of the sites on this list. If any of you faithful readers are already registered on any of the sites, I’d appreciate a heads-up, so I can avoid being exposed or rumbled. Thanks.

“What format will this take and when will we see the results, Bud?”

Once a site has been entered and I’ve been banned, I will give a full report. There will be no exposure of how things have gone until after the five days are up, to avoid the aforementioned rumbling of my account. There will be no obvious username in use and I shall attempt to do this without any breaking of rules, other than just generally being an objectionable dick.

“What’s the timeframe on this and when can we expect the results of your first banning, Bud?”

You’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll be cramming this into my already hectic schedule, and it will probably begin in the next month or two. Don’t get too excited just yet, it’s really just an idea at the moment. Rest assured, dear internet, that you’ll be seeing this start before the end of the year, certainly.

OK, back to work, slackers.

After suffering a “reaction to medication“, she was taken to a fashionable London hospital in a stretch ambulance. Since contracting old woman’s disease, emphysema, she’s been in and out of the hossie, looking more and more like Crazy Legs Crane by the day.

Amy Winehouse is now at the number one spot in Bud’s Celebrity Meltdown Sweepstake and is expected, by me, to be either dead by the end of the year, or to have snapped in half like a twiglet, under the weight of her mascara.

If only Pete Doherty was as careless as her. I really really wish he’d hurry up and die.

The Lucky Ones - Mudhoney. In what can only be described as “a triumphant return to form”, The Lucky Ones sees Mudhoney doing what they do best - rocking out and sneering. After the somewhat disappointing previous two albums, Under A Billion Suns and Since We’ve Become Translucent, the much-discussed four piece stamp on your face as though it were an overdrive pedal and help themselves to the contents of your fridge. And you like it when they do it.

From the opening track, I’m Now, onwards, the album treads a fairly familiar path to that of Superfuzz Bigmuff, their first release. Ballsy riffs chug away in your face and large bass and drums sounds very tightly underpin the racket. There’s a charming roughness to the whole album that probably reflects the fact that it was recorded in just three and a half days. Although the songs are a little samey throughout, they’re all of such a high quality that it’s easy to overlook it. In particular, The Open Mind shines, despite sounding a little like Weight-era Rollins Band, with Mark Arm sounding just as much like a defiant, raspberry blowing teenager, as he ever did.

As is customary in this situation, I’ll make some comparison to robots now. The Lucky Ones doesn’t sound like robots at all. However, it does sound a bit like someone becoming quite frustrated with a robot, then kicking the shit out of it. Then, with a satisfied grin on their face, drinking a bottle of whisky and pinching a few girl’s behinds. Which means it’s very good indeed.

If I had a star rating system, it would be out of 5. The Lucky Ones would garner itself a very respectable 4 stars, and it would be satisfied with it.

Now, I don’t mind admitting that I watch Big Brother. It’s entertaining, as I like to see the worst examples of humanity humiliate themselves on a daily basis. But, for once, the most objectionable person connected to Big Brother is one of its presenters. I’m overlooking Davina “Witch-faced-beldam” McCall, as that goes without saying.

Zezi Ifore, right. Well. She’s fucking useless. Not only does she have a face like an unevolved primate that was raped by a bacon farmer, but she has all of the presenting skills of a bucket full of piss. She stumbles over her words, she hams it up and she looks like she smells of unwashed lady-parts. What I’m saying is: the woman disgusts me.

Look at her:

She looks like she was put together from gristle and offcuts in an abattoir run by alcoholics. She has a pig face, much like a Gamorrean Guard’s.

What I want to know is: who is her famous parent and why did they think it would be a good idea to give her a job in the media? She clearly hasn’t got where she is on merit. I urge you to slap her on sight.

It’s not you, it’s me.

I’ve been incredibly lazy and, somehow, also very busy. I’ve been working loads of overtime and driving myself mental in order to fund a relocation towards the end of the year. That basically means I’m going to be moving house in a few months. Obviously, the knock-on effect of this has been a glaring lack of new content for you to get wet over.

I’m sorry.

However, I will be making some updates in the near future. YES! I can feel the vibrations in the air as you pump your fists and thrust your collective internet pelvis at the monitor. Good times are on YOUR horizons.

During the downtime, I got a bit out of the habit and let my writing fall by the wayside. That, combined with the ever-present fist of responsibility and a bunch of quality video games really threw me off my stride. BUT I’M COMING BACK TO LOVE YOU ALL IN THE FACE ONCE MORE. Probably more than once, in fact.

SO. What’s in store for all you lucky people? Well, the fair came to town, with a whole load of new paint jobs for me to mock. I only remembered this recently when clearing out the contents of my camera, where I found a collection of rather stunningly ugly rides to ridicule. Great stuff.

I’ve also been listening to lots of music, which I shall diligently review, so you don’t have to bother listening to any of it yourself. That’s GOOD NEWS FOR YOU. I may even review some of the films and games I’ve been staring at too.

IF I CAN BE BOTHERED.

Right, fuck off, there’s work to be done and I’m not doing it. The boss will be fuming if he catches me.

Bad times.

I’m going outside to kick a dog and punch a non-smoker.

My favourite game for the last ten years has been Grand Theft Auto, in its many guises. It’s quite simply the only game that allows me to be as morally free as I’d like to be. It’s the only game that allows me to explore a ridiculously detailed world. It’s the only game that will let me follow tramps around, whilst listening to them sing about their super powers. It’s the only game I really care about. I used to have a serious gaming problem. I’d spend hours and hours every day playing games.

Even back when I was a slightly rotund child, I would easily lose up to 10 hours a day playing poorly realised games. The sort of games where you’d feel like a champion for making a four colour sprite successfully maneouvre from one side of the screen to the other. Basically, what I’m describing here is shitty old games that losers defiantly hold in high-regard because they wasted so much time on them as children that they feel rabid defense is the only way to justify all that time investment. Shit old games.

 Grand Theft Auto IV is the first GTA game to grace both the Xbox360 and the PS3. I bought an Xbox just for this game. It required me selling every console I owned in order to scrimp together the cash. Consoles aren’t cheap. I knew in my heart that this was a game that had to be played. I’d played the others pretty much on release day, so I wanted this new, pretty version to be no exception. I knew that this game would be graphically superior to previous versions. That there would be new features. That the game would be incredibly immersive, as that’s how Rockstar’s games tend to be.

 I wasn’t prepared for quite how beautiful and awesome the game really is.

OK, let’s go over some basics quickly. These snippets of fact are there for those of you that haven’t played the game before. Shame on you, loser.

• It’s set in Liberty City - a fictional interpretation of modern-day New York.
• The lead protagonist is Niko Bellic - some sort of Serbian war veteran. He’s handy with guns, knives and can fly a helicopter. Handy, that.
• You have the ability to roam a gigantic landscape that is realistic and brimming with life. Pedestrians go about their daily day-to-days and act like ordinary people would.
• The game features a new physics engine, Euphoria, which realistically models pedestrian’s and character’s reactions on the fly, making for some incredible moments of gaming.
• Letting off a grenade in a crowded area is fun.

That’s the basics covered.

 What really sets GTA IV apart from other games is the cinematic feel of the game. It’s incredibly detailed. Rooms no longer feel like cardboard boxes filled with Action Man figures, in which someone has loosely scattered some furniture. The streets no longer feel like vast empty spaces, devoid of life and activity. Liberty City feels huge. Buildings finally adhere to real-world scaling and feel like they should. I’ve lived in a major city and walked around the skyscrapers. The feeling of concrete, ever-present and always towering, has been nailed completely. It goes beyond cinematic and into simulation. Your character feels weighty as he struts around like a bad-ass. You almost feel like you’re there. Almost.

 Rockstar have put a lot of effort into writing the story this time around. Characters are no longer 2D, as it were, but are fully fleshed out. They are emotional, they are realistic. You could easily begin to care about them, if you’re prepared to spend a lot of time with them. Which you will, as a result of the new ‘friends system’. You have to take your friends out and entertain them, when you’re not blowing up cars and flicking the Vs at police men (note: Sadly, you cannot flick the Vs at police men, in game - you can however flick your own Vs at the screen, whilst shoving them in the face). The more time you spend with them, the more they open up to you. More of their own story will be slowly revealed to you. Even after completing the main story mode, I’m learning more and more about the few friends you meet. They’re really quite intriguing. Little things like changing the radio in your car, only for them to respond to the music that’s playing… that’s neat. In particular, whilst ferrying my Rastafarian contact around, turning to the Bob Marley-themed station, with him responding “that’s my tune, star”. Simply genius.

Amidst the rags-to-slightly-better-rags story of GTA IV, there are, of course, many missions for you to attempt. These range from simple chase missions, to drug running, to gunning down Russians on a large freighter. I’m trying not to spoil anything here by using specifics. However, let it be noted that the missions, whilst on the whole are very easy, are very satisfying to play and your primary reward for playing through them is the experience they have so accurately and realistically brought to life. Missions in GTA games have, for me, always been slightly secondary. I prefer to just wander around the city, causing shit for anyone that happens to bump into me. I like to explore. I like to take my time and have a look at what’s going on around me. There’s been so much effort put in to making the city feel alive that it would be stupid not to take a look at it all. I finished the missions very rapidly, faster than any previous GTA game I’d played and, although this was slightly disappointing, I understand that a game of this calibre and scope deserves to be played by casual gamers and hardcore gamers alike, so this low level of difficulty seems appropriate. There’s plenty of other stuff to do on the side, once you’re finished taking Niko to hell and back.

 The amount of stuff to do has caused some concern amongst the hardcore GTA fans. I’ve spent a lot of time reading GTAForums and have seen that people can get upset by the most trivial things. In GTA: San Andreas, released nearly 4 years ago, the player could take their character to the gym, work him out, buy him loads of different clothes, feed him, get his hair cut… all the sort of mindless distraction that was thrown in to add “realism”. I’ve used the word “realistic” quite a lot so far in this review, so I’ll just touch on that a bit more here. GTA IV dispensed with these needless role-playing game-like elements, in order to bring the most realistic experience they could to a player. Many were upset to see things like planes, parachutes, bicycles and character/car customisation removed. These are the people that probably hoon around the city at full speed in the most expensive sports car they can find, only to wrap it around a tree then run around spraying bullets like air freshener. That’s not for me. I like to play at a sensible pace, not causing any more trouble than is necessary.

 Here lies the key to GTA IV: It rewards the patient player.

 Driving around in the now more realistic vehicles at a sensible speed, observing traffic laws and generally not drawing attention to yourself makes you feel more immersed. I’ve spent hours driving around with the radio off, exploring the city, listening to the hundreds of different pedestrians go about their days. Some of them aren’t even speaking English. Flipping on the cinematic camera mode and driving around, or just keebling around on foot leaves me feeling like an actual tourist in a real city. I’m starting to get to know the place. I’m starting to like it there. Crashing around at 120 miles-per with a bazooka attached to your head won’t give you the opportunity to spot how much research on New York has been done. Rockstar have really tried to bring you the most authentic and, yes, realistic experience a video game can offer. They’ve succeeded.

Taking your time and seeing the sights, walking alongside the natives… it just feels right.

 OK. I’ve gone on for long enough about how great the game feels. This atmosphere, alongside the stunning graphics and amazing sound slaps GTA quite firmly at the top of the “Most Accomplished and Stunning Games of All Times” list. It’s a very special list. Other GTA games are on there. Whilst the graphics may not be the most beautiful or realistic, they are good enough to deserve note. GTA games have always had a certain look to them, that feels somewhat cartoony. That is slowly fading away as newer more powerful technology is available. GTA IV doesn’t look photo-realistic, like other games, but it looks fucking excellent. Dynamic lighting, dynamic weather and bustling life make the game feel huge and real. Alive.

 The sound is greatly improved over previous games, too. Gone are the pea-shooter sound effects for guns. Gone are the gentle whines of engines. Guns go BANG. Cars go VROOM. Lightning rumbles and crashes around you. The rain can often be deafening. GTA is known not only for it’s incredible gaming experiences, but also for it’s rich and well selected soundtrack. Here, as usual, there are numerous radio stations, bringing you everything New York - a hardcore punk station screams FUCK YOU in your face. A classic rock station threatens overdose. A dancehall stations yells patois at you, whilst reeking of sensi. Techno, ambient, reggae, jazz. There’s something for everyone.

 Speaking of something for everyone, there is also now a multiplayer element to GTA. Sure, it’s more than likely that if you were to play this game online, you’d be spending quite a lot of your time getting shot in the face by 12 year old boys that have nothing better to do than question your sexuality, despite only truly learning what sexuality is within the last 3 or 4 months. You can ignore them. Instead of letting them ruin your experience, you can console yourself with 15 game modes, all of which are fun. Shooty-shooty, drivey-drivey. You know what to expect. The environment’s scale and the wealth of activity going on around you (all definable), coupled with a slapstick physics engine will give you some excruciatingly funny moments. And they’ll never be the same again. Again, this game is giving you moment after moment that you had to be there for.

 There’s so much I can say about this game. There’s so much I can witter on about that will probably go no way toward making you understand how much I love it. There’s no point. All I can do is suggest that you play it. Even if you’re not a gamer. Play it with an open mind and play it patiently. You’re directly in control of one of the most exciting block-buster movies you’ll ever see.

 You’re a fucking winner, baby.