When I was a kid growing up on Anglesey in North Wales (I say "on" because it is an Island, doofus), it wasn't uncommon for pissed up "Adults" to suddenly appear from nowhere (we later discovered it was actually "The Pub") wielding makeshift weapons (sticks, rocks, planks of wood, bottles) and trying their pissed-up best to savagely beat us senseless, all the while laughing manically and shouting slogans from early eighties action movies.
Usually running away worked as these "Adults" were, after all, but lumbering drunkards, and you could then spend the rest of the day plotting revenge, or sneakily following them around throwing stones at the backs of their heads then hiding behind bushes.
ANYWAY! It is nice to see the tradition still exists. The BBC have footage of a drunk attacking some Star Wars worshiping-geeks whilst dressed in a bin bag and wielding a metal crutch. The piss-head said in court he "had no idea where he got the crutch from", but I suspect it was probably some POOR CRIPPLED OLD LADY. Wasteman! Lock him up and throw away the key!
Incidentally, the kids that got attacked are the Arch Deacons (or whatever you call them) of Anglesey's First Church Of Jedi Bullcrap, or whatever it's called. Charlotte Church gave them five grand to set the thing up. Only I am reporting this connection. The BBC didn't bother putting that puzzle together. Where's my Pulitzer?
Entirely unrelated (well...), but Immortal Technique has this new joint about some wastemen raping a lady and pretending to be Tony Montana, which you can download here (link via 2DopeBoyz), It's a new update of an older joint called Dancing With The Devil. This new version has some Eminemey beat which makes it much better, surprisingly. It is really, really good, and pretty disturbing. Proper old school story telling shit (word to Dizzee).
Finally, I dunno if you remember, but a while ago I mentioned my boy Ben Myers was making a book of spam-inspired poetry. This was a genius idea, and he was first to have it, as far as I know. I was gonna illustrate the thing, but I forgot, what with all the records and poverty. Wish I hadn't now! The book is out, and it looks awesome. Check out one of the poems after the jump, and go buy the book for a fiver here.
Neck Of The Woods
In the corner
the gem engraver
tussles round-handed with his shoulder strap skullcap speedwell
magician pulls hats
his silk-stitched sleeves,
dripping dead dove
is a chrome robot
that punters pay extra
to hump and
- meanwhile the band plays
on and on with
snares of skin and
an endless canon of funereal chants
and dark incantations.