Thursday, 14 March 2013

NEW ISSUE! BLESS YOU.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrright then you humps, Issue 4: The Horror Issue of D For Delinquent will be available to pick up and hold at The Causal Sex Stroh "80"/Soft School Single Launch at Nice 'N' Sleazys, Glasgow.  Playing that night are ASIAN BABES, THE AMAZING SNAKEHEADS & CASUAL SEX.   It's on the 5th of April 2013 and I'd advise you to go if you can, could be the last chance you'll get to see these three bands before everyone jumps on the band wagon and says they saw them first.
Here's a piece that wouldn't fit in/wasn't good enough by Elvis Safety:
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I’ve been asked to write a few words about Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’.  I’m not what you would call, qualified to do this, I’ve seen very few films and this is not one of them.  If asked to write about the works of Mathew Broderick there’d be a -AMAZING I’VE JUST CAUGHT A FLY BETWEEN MY THUMB AND FOREFINGER! BITE THE BIG ONE MYAGI! - few more words. 
So having never seen ‘The Birds’ or any other Alfred Hitchcock film I can only imagine what it’s about.  And boy does it sound like the kind of film I’d like.  I’ve heard it’s a horror and rightly so, birds are quite scary especially when they try to blow you while drunk, never mind when they wake up hungover and weepy with make up all over their face, your face, white bedspread and walls.  They can never remember your name –or sometimes their own- but they can always remember that you filmed the previous night’s debauchery and insist on you deleting it.  The human mind is breath taking, annoying but none-the-less breath taking.      

Anyway, to the film! The best bit’s probably near the beginning when Hitchcock is cruising around nondescript suburban Lancashire in his SAAB while drinking Highland Commissioner neat to The Village People’s ‘Sleazy’ tastefully mixed into the background when he gets flagged over by a Myra Hindley-a-like at a bus stop.  A short innuendo fuelled flirtatious chat ensues and what comes natural to an aging yellow teethed man and a woman stranded in the worst area of Great Britain naturally occurs.  A short drive, more elevated dirty-talk, an abandoned Industrial Estate and a breathy clinch.  Ahh Hitchcock, only Hitchcock could leave her at the scene of the rut and absent mindedly forget he’s kept her entire bottom half of clothing and left shoe strewn over his ample back seat.    
I like how his film would push the boundaries of your standard bored middle class sex crazed homemade cinematography.  This Hitchcock blokes appropriating and pastiche-ing his little heart out.   He’s drawn inspiration from such films as Reservoir Dogs, Full Metal Jacket and Scum.   It’s a truly eclectic mix of styles and sexual preference.  Although it has the ability to please everyone that watches it, it’s also his downfall.  It’s just too much of a democracy.  While trying to appeal to a bigger market he’s alienated his loyal and already established fan base.

I’d imagine at this point in his directing, producing and acting career Hitchcock’s at a crossroads.  Carry on in the same way he has, which has earned him his already substantial following, resulting in a personal creative dilemma.   Do what his inspirational heart and aspirational mind are telling him and do what he feels right, risking the alienation of his fan base and the possibility of the greater gain of the mainstream pound.  Like only Hitchcock would do he’s tried to keep everyone happy.  At times it works, yet there is an underlying feeling of him asking everyone to ‘Please, please. please like me’.
I imagine poor Hitchcock’s had a rough time deciding whether to go ahead with this film.  On the whole I think it was the right decision.  He has perhaps received a lot, and I mean a lot of negative feedback from his puritan fans but he’s beautifully slid into the more a lucrative world of thinking men and ironic viewers.  I believe cigars and slaps on the backs should reign down on Mr Alfred Hitchcock for this monumental cinematic effort.   I can only advise ‘The Birds’ to open minded long term fans and first timers. 

BILINGUAL AYY, HE'S BEEN AWAY TOO LONG!

Domingo 23 Diciembre
 
Mañana en la mañana
 
 
“Me - coffee. You - money.”
Oh, yesterday. Maybe I’m lucky to be well and writing now, but even if so, I still feel like pure dogshit off the back of how the day played out. It’s like I’m still hitting the same walls that bruised the sense out of me 5000 miles away. The world ended and I missed it, but I hope that somehow I’ve learned something useful to deal with the new one.
It started well. I rose at madrugada, after a cue from Chang. He’d said that he was too ill to climb la Malinche with Victor the walking guide, but that I could meet him to go. No sign of Victor, so I set off instead to the next hill in view, prepared well with Mariana’s walking boots and wind-resistant jacket. The morning of blithe adventure takes in fields, goats, and a derelict hacienda, with a basement tunnel, and fantasies of finding a casket of Spanish gold beneath the wilderness. There’s also the discovery that Mariana was keeping M$4100 in cash in the jacket pocket - the treasure was right under my nose all along, but it wasn’t mine in the first place. The journey continues, traversing ravines that cry out for the rain to return.
Sweat pouring off me by the time I’m climbing the hill, I jump a fence to the secluded top and spend the afternoon sunbathing on my little mesa… but on the return journey la Malinche appears a lot closer. I send texts to reassure Mariana & Javier that I know where I’m going, but with la Malinche bearing down upon me, and ravines to traverse, I stray off course far enough that I’ve missed Casa Malinche, the neighbouring town, and the road to the highway completely. By dusk, I’m heading to a police inspection station on the highway. The traffic cop comes out and I start hacking out a conversation with him, between my pidgin Spanish and his non-existent English, and he’s got plenty of questions about the hacienda and what I’m doing there, but thankfully I’m too ignorant with the language to tell him much. When I mention getting a taxi to the hacienda, he says it’ll take 3 hours (lie) and that’s when I conceded to call Mariana. She arrives with Marianita 30 minutes later, and I sit silently in the back of the car while a casual interrogation plays out between her and the traffic cop. I can tell he’s getting details off her, and that she’s dealing with him tersely. I apologise on the drive back and then she gives me a roasting, about how the police aren’t the same as in my country, and how crooked they are. She hopes that cop was one of the nice ones, unlike the ones who got away with robbing her brother-in-law’s house a month ago. I hope that the M$20 mordida the traffic cop squeezed out of me before she came was enough to placate him, and keep fresh avarice from descending upon Casa Malinche. He was quite blunt about it, but I never let on that I had 4100 of Mariana’s smackeroos on me, and he thankfully had no pretext or inclination to search me.
 
I felt rotten when returning, on top of being physically spent, so I retired to an epic sulk / sleep. Plenty more to write about my journey, but I still stink and there are perros, perritos and pollos to feed.
 
 

MMM K WEST'S WANK WAREHOUSE ~ TITHER

"A hot priest is hard to find" said every altar boy ever. Look closer boys and you will find him in the world of Hollywood! Where dreams are created and then cruelly snatched away from you. But wank banks are forever, awww Father Caress Me, please come exorcise me soon. I can promise that I will swallow your holy water and will get on my knees and pray to your one true god of Hot Priest. Take ME, why is life so unfair that I can't find a hot priest to bless my sacrament and wash me of my sins. Gonna go on uniformdating.com and trawl for sexy priests but Eric the Midget in Carlisle was on it and I don't really want to go on a date with him in any uniform that he might put on. Can everyone remember the bin video?
Wet knicker rating: 4.5/5