A Bootiful Corpse

Well-known turkey botherer and racist stand-up comic Bernard Matthews has died. He was 80 (gas mark 3).

Proudly declaring that "a little piece of me" could be found in every pack of Turkey Twizzlers, Matthews became part of the public consciousness when he appeared in adverts in the 80s, sparking his catchphrase "bootiful". The naked dancing and rubbing of turkey eggs on his bare nipples proved less popular.

Never revealing which part of the turkey Golden Drummers actually were, that very product was a clever way of releasing rancid meat pressed into shapes by Matthews's own blood-stained hands, "wrapped in golden breadcrumbs" scraped from fish fingers, into the food chain. They proved a hit with lazy dinner ladies and shellsuit-wearing mothers alike.

The king of reshaped, mechanically-pressed meat by-products, he was also known for his earthy wit. Sick of being known as the "Bootiful Man", he tried an ill-advised change to "Bernard Matthews Turkey-flavoured meat products - They're Norfolk'ing Good!". It lasted a week until the BBFC banned the adverts. A little known fact is that the line "it's turkey time, gobble gobble" from Hollywood prolapse Gigli was a tribute to Manning, quoting his oft-used chat-up line. What woman could resist a proposition like that from a multi-millionaire poultry slaughterer?

Matthews was the target of Jamie Oliver's School Dinners campaign, citing Turkey Twizzlers as the main target. Deep-fried poultry intestines weren't a healthy choice for kids, said a spitting, dribbling Oliver. Matthews took it all in good humour, setting fire to fellow millionaire Oliver's house. "That'll learn the fucker. Bootiful!" said a wart-faced Matthews with a wink and a smile to nobody as the flames flickered around him. I imagine.

Little else is known of the man whose "British born and bred" Turkey products, imported from Hungary, fill many a Spar's freezer section. Except that his mansion smells of bird shit.

As a final request, and in accordance with his last will and testament, his giblets will be removed before burial, encased in golden breadcrumbs, and put on display in the National Museum, where hundreds of disinterested schoolchildren every year will be able to poke and prod them with a stick.

Blue Blood And Other Congenital Mutations

Well, there's good news and there's bad news.

The good news (for me) is that those shift changes I needed... I've got them. That means that I've got 4 whole days a week away from work, so I'll be posting regular blogs and working on Destinauts again.

The bad news... we have to wait a whole year for the royal wedding. Nooooooooooo!

I don't mean I'm looking forward to it. Far from it. I'm actually dreading the blanket coverage across the media.

A hated Tory government dangerously out of touch with the people, a forthcoming royal wedding the main news story, shit "talent" shows dominating the airwaves, Doctor Who is played by a man in his late 20s, I have 50p to my name... Have I gone back to the fucking 80s?! Nope, believe it or not, this is still 2010, but with a twist. Things are much, much worse this time around.

I imagine you've all been as excited as I am about William Nice-But-Royal and Kate Middleclass (as, no doubt, Harry Enfield will eventually call them) getting together. I've had many a sleepless night, terrified that it would never happen. But, as every TV programme would remind you every fucking minute this entire fucking week, they've announced that they're tying the knot (and I don't mean Prince Philip setting up gallows to clear away some frightful peasants).

But does anyone really care? Really? I've not seen so much sycophancy on television towards Das Haus von Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha since Alistair Burnett sucked off Prince Edward live on the News at Ten rhythmically to the "bongs". Amidst all of the bad things in the world, a pesky global recession that just won't go away, rising levels of poverty and unemployment, how wonderful it was for entire news teams to get overtime.

Before last week, I'd never heard Kate Middleton speak. How refreshing that the woman referred to as a "commoner" all across the news actually sounds exactly as horsey as the shallow gene pool she's dipping her webbed toes into. Perhaps this was intended for the royals to appeal to we scumbags. The Queen has a knack for this; during the recession of the early 90s, during the Queen's Peach, she rightly addressed her guttersnipe subjects in a language they understand - Latin, referring to her horrible anus. By tastelessly letting William propose using his dead mother's ring, it smacks of a cynical attempt at reliving those halcyon days before the public at large realised how parasitic and undeserving of  their status they were. "It's wicked!" said a hoodie-wearing Camilla outside her local Spar, after demanding an innocent passer-by go in and buy her cigarettes. Seeing David Cameron emerging from Number 10 looking ever so pleased with himself (perhaps a tad more than usual), declaring that the entire cabinet were "banging the table" when he told them, seemingly in need of a post-coital cigarette, spoke volumes. This country is becoming unrecognisable, and I don't like it.

Seeing her "commoner" parents in a pheasant shoot on the news just cemented it for me. I've spent years ignoring these blights on humanity, confounded that this expensive anachronism is still allowed to exist while the coffers dry up. "Oh, but they bring in money through tourism!" cry the monarchists.

Yes, and so does Banksy.

To prepare you for the wedding (the only upside of which is we'll get a day off work), here are some royal facts:

• Prince Philip's comedy racism is all an act. He is a huge fan of Lenny Henry's Delbert Wilkins character, and actually rooted for "Marigold" on In Sickness And In Health.
• The House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha became the House of Windsor, not to lose its Gemanic connotations during a time of war, but in honour of Z-Cars star Frank Windsor.
• The Queen Mother was so demented in later years, she used collector's plates as mirrors.
• If you want to emulate the Queen Mother's radiant looks, simply immerse your face in vinegar, paint your teeth yellow (it couldn't hurt to lose a few or let them rot away), plunge your head into a bag of flour and top off with a stupid fucking hat.
• The Queen is known for her uncanny resemblance to Jeannette Charles, and has been hired many times in films due to the likeness.
• The Royal Family are above the law. This would explain why so many people look at other avenues of blame when the odd speeding law is flouted and the lives of ordinary people are endangered.
• The Queen hates corgis. She started with one and decided she didn't like it, but the floodgates opened, and people keep buying them for her.
• The Queen is unable to walk onto a chequered black and white floor without feeling instantly threatened.
• Since her death, Princess Margaret has been converted into a brewery.
• If you watch footage of Prince Charles during a polo match, you can see him practising some of his sexy moves on the horse and muttering the word "Camilla".
• The Queen is psychically linked to every stamp. Every time one is licked, she can feel it.
• Also, careful where you pocket that £5 note - each one is fitted with a tiny camera in the Queen's right eye.
• Jimmy Krankie is 8th in the line to the throne.
• The Queen shed a tear when Windsor Castle was in flames 18 years ago this week, but if she sees footage of people on fire, she laughs and laughs and laughs, particularly if they're poor.
• Prince Charles is extremely forgetful; he's always leaving a roller skate at the top of the stairs near the Queen's bedroom.
• James Hewitt is extremely excited at the prospect of becoming a great uncle.
• Prince Harry's Nazi uniform was surprisingly authentic. Indeed, it is one of his grandfather's favourite possessions.
• The Queen thinks it's a "fucking joke" that she isn't allowed to arbitrarily execute anyone she pleases in today's climate. "It's sheer fucking madness that one cannot behead any old cunt."
• Although the general public (or at least the stupid ones most taken in by tabloid propaganda) adored Princess Diana as their "Queen of Hearts", she was, for the most part, a bit of a simpleton.
• Like the Royal Family, The Royle Family is inexplicably popular. Wait a minute... the "Royal" Family... the "Royle" family... I get it now! That's hilarious! That Caroline Aherne... she's a fucking genius, the alcoholic funster.
• The Windsors have 3 whole chromosomes, which they share between them to show that they're not wasteful parasites.
• The Queen eats off of gold plates, just in case any Cybermen try invading Buckingham Palace, although she's "a bit fucking perturbed" that the new Cybermen aren't allergic to gold.
• As sequels go, Queen Elizabeth II isn't as good as the original.
• Camilla Parker-Bowles has her own diamond-encrusted nosebag.
• The British public are "thrilled" to be footing the bill for the forthcoming wedding. "It's only money!" said Big Issue seller Jimmy Drummond on his pitch outside Victoria Station yesterday.

Doesn't it make you proud to be British?

A quick post thingy

Hello. You know, I've had barely any time lately to post here. Fingers crossed, that will be changing soon.

Since I started work again back in April, I've not been able to keep up on here, but for the purposes of babysitting, I've put in a flexitime request so I only work Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. I just wish they'd hurry up and get that arranged. Once that's done, I'll be on here more regularly.

Okay, since the last post on here, I've posted the first part of issue 2 of Destinauts, and am working on the next bit right now. Destinauts is another thing that had to get sidetracked due to work, but I'm doing my damnedest to rectify that. To give you some perspective, it takes a day to colour one page, and given my current amount of free time, I'm lucky if I manage to complete the pencils and inks for a page in 2 days. Of course, that all depends if I actually get the free time to do it. Professional comics have a sizeable team of people working on each issue; doing everything myself is bloody painstaking and time consuming, especially when I'm working my real job most of the week, hence why the huge gap between issue one and issue two. I'm trying to get the momentum back now. Sigh.

Anyway, on the last post here, I ran a competition to tie in with the first birthday of Dystopian Fuchsia, the prize being getting a character named after yourself in a forthcoming issue. The questions were:

1. What's the name of the cigarette smoking journalist in the first issue of Destinauts?

Phil Stafford

2. Who was the star of last year's Children's Television: The Re-Imagining's Hallowe'en Special?

Skeletor

3. What was the title of the short story I posted last Christmas?

A Christmas Arsehole

Many congratulations to @DotSeven! You'll see the character very soon.

Anyway, that's it for today. Soon, it'll be business-as-it-used-to-be. Have a pleasant day.

One is 1 (is too)

Happy bidet to me, happy bidet to me... well, not me, but this here blog. One year ago today, I made the first post, Children's Television: The Re-Imagining (which I've added to on occasion), and sort of went from there, really. And you know what? This blog still hasn't got a theme of any kind. I don't think I'm organised enough for that.

I wanted to write a fun celebration type of post, but I may have to come back later in the week to do that and pretend it's still November 3rd. You know when you wake up and just feel melancholy? I'm a bit like that today. 

Looking back at the stuff I was writing on here a year ago, what's changed? The TV stuff I was complaining about last year is still firmly in place (X Factor, Strictly Come Dancing), but the government has changed, bringing with it the largest sense of impending doom and crawling skin I've felt since I heard the phrase "and here's your host, Patrick Kielty". We have a set of faceless business managers forcing their unwelcome right wing, rich-friendly rhetoric on the public. I hope you're happy, Britain, getting these cunts into power. You do realise that George Osborne, when he's not being a Dickensian workhouse owner, is actually Mr Sinister from the X-Men?

One thing that I've been concerned about of late is that politics is becoming a major division on Twitter. Since the Tories got into power, it has become awash with intolerance, more and more people revealing themselves to be ardent supporters of the ConDems and their spiteful policies. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, no matter how wrong or misguided they may be, but it's the air of smugness I can't bear. New Labour screwed up in a major way, and I disliked pretty much every single person in the Cabinet, but I didn't feel like my family was going to suffer as much as they will under this government.

Recently, Margaret Thatcher was admitted to hospital. The normal Twitter thing happened, and people tweeted jokes about her dying. This is a woman who fucked the country in the 80s, a vile human being so out of touch, she might as well have been a fucking poltergeist, and has rightly become despised. However, there was a sudden upsurge of support for her on Twitter from some quarters, people saying "how dare they wish an elderly woman to die?" and so forth. This is perhaps true on one level, but would these people have said the same thing about Osama bin Laden or Myra Hindley? Probably not. What these people are doing is, one the one hand, failing to acknowledge the deep-seated hatred that people feel towards her, and on the other, using it as a political football. I made one subtle joke, not even naming her, and I was immediately unfollowed by someone I had a modicum of respect for. Reading her subsequent tweets, she was having dozens of conversations with those very people I mentioned, saying how "disgusting" it was that people dared tweet such things, but also stating that she "loved Mrs Thatcher - I think she was brilliant". I can see the point about wishing her dead, but that is washing away all of the evil that she performed, the feeling of hatred that people feel towards her, and the fact that we've pretty much got her back now in the form of Cameron. Being sensitive enough to unfollow people on Twitter over it though? Ah well, life's too short to worry about people like that.

For a short time, I had a second Twitter account, @JoeyMiliband, a fictional, gene-spliced experiment to create the ultimate Miliband. It didn't catch on, and became too much effort to constantly try and tweet made up stuff. Ah well, I tried. Anyway, this was he:

People didn't get the joke. Who am I to argue? Deleted.

Anyway, Dystopian Fuchsia. I don't get much time to write here at the moment, but when I do, I love doing it. For those of you that have been here since the start, and everyone else who's joined since, I thank you so much for your support. I'd like to run a competition (of sorts)... I'm currently working on Destinauts, my web comic, and the prize is to have a character named after you in an upcoming issue. It won't be a bit-part character, but a major role. There's no cash equivalent. 

For your chance to win, follow this blog (at the very top-right of the page) if you don't already, and answer the following 3 questions:

1. What's the name of the cigarette smoking journalist in the first issue of Destinauts?

2. Who was the star of last year's Children's Television: The Re-Imagining's Hallowe'en Special?

3. What was the title of the short story I posted last Christmas?

The answers can be found somewhere on this site and on the Destinauts site. Email your answers to dystopianfuchsia@googlemail.com, marked "Competition", by November 8th 2010. In your email, you'll need to include your real name, as well as your name as it appears on the "Followers" list up above. The winner will be selected randomly and announced on this site next week.

Well, thanks for reading. It's been great fun writing this blog over the past year, and though the posts don't happen as often as they used to, they will still keep coming. 

I don't know how to sign off this post, and I hate long goodbyes, so here's a random picture.

Bye.