Matt Black Speaks

2006-06-28T03:35:00.000+01:00

Dirty little scummers

They're everywhere. I am up on my high-horse about them because one recently tried to mug me to fund his smack habit.

It happened when I was using a cashpoint: I noticed a guy was standing too close to me. Then I went to cross the road and he started to follow me. So I turned around and went into a nearby shop, he went back to standing by the cashpoint. I went out again to cross the road and he started to follow me again. At this point I got a little bit concerned.

But how could I tell he was trouble? Well, you know, you just can. Now, I am not generally a believer in physiognomy but this guy had chipped, weird-ass teeth, a Pete Doherty complexion and most telling of all, a really small head. Seriously, it was freakishly tiny and covered in ginger fuzz. It looked like he was balancing an orange on his shoulders.

Also, I happened to see him getting chucked out of his house (or hovel or whatever) by his misses a few days previously. She had just abandoned him by the local shops - they were having a blazing row and she told him not to come back home.

By a strange coincidence, they were outside a greengrocer. Maybe she's met someone with a more exotic piece of fruit for a head. Possibly papaya. Maybe melon. Could even be custard apple. Ho ho fucking ho.

But anyway, he started following me a second time and my army training kicked in. My computer game training, anyway. I spun around and looked him in the eye. At least I assume it was the eye, but it could have just been a Del Monte sticker.

"Alright mate?" I said as confidently as I could manage.

"Wsfugguritum" he replied, turning around and going back to the cash point.

Fucking yeah, score one for law and order! Hooray! You been told, orange head. They call me the fruit knife and I'm gonna take your life, squish you up and show you to your wife. I'm the smoothie maker and I'm coming to juice you to a pulp. Don't mess with me, motherfucker. I made my way home, glancing backwards regularly.

It should be noted that this was a very risky strategy, not to be tried unless you don't mind being stabbed in the brain with HIV-infected syringes. I mean, I got lucky, but in retrospect it would have been a better idea to go in the shop and call the police. But we're all dead clever with hindsight, right?

2006-06-24T02:21:00.000+01:00

Boring little notice

So far the timings of our posts have been a little haphazard, so we have decided to try to post a new article every Tuesday (edit: or Wednesday).

On this subject, we received this lovely letter the other day -

"God bless you! The regularity that MattBlackSpeaks brings has given me extra confidence. Thanks to you I can live life to the full again! I will definitely recommend you to all my friends. " - Mrs DeFicate, Tennessee, USA

Glad to be of service, ma'am.

2006-06-20T01:53:00.000+01:00

I have a real weakness for crap horror films.

Some people like chocolate. Others like cigarettes. Still others enjoy injecting crack cocaine directly into their brainstems and slashing wildly with katanas in shopping centres. But hey, it takes many colours to make a rainbow.

I have just been watching a British horror called Cold & Dark, and it is the best one so far. It had everything. Bollock-twistingly bad acting? Check! Every scene using an 'abandoned dockyard' backdrop, negating the need to build any sets? Yep! Massively too many phallic references? Loads!

The plot is more or less as follows. Coppers Mortimer Shade and John Dark (I swear I am not making this up) are working together when Shade is killed and gets infected with a spirit called the Grail. He promptly turns into a blood-sucking monster with a whopping great toothy snake thing that comes out of his hand to eat people's hearts. Dark doesn't seem to mind and the two of them get into some extra-curricular retributive justice, killing off crims left, right and centre.

But soon, drippy Dark starts to wonder, 'is it right to kill criminals? Do we have the moral authority?' In fact, he wonders this loudly for what seems like about a quarter of the film, often while sitting in the bath, eating a banana.

Dark mentions his concerns to his boss, a terrifying cross between Christopher Lee and the Scottish hotelier in Little Britain, leading to the absolute best scene in any film ever. In it, the police commissioner works himself up into a blazing fury while comparing policework to golf: "...some irons, some woods. They all hit the ball a little differently. Hard and heavy for the gliding long-shot, the softest touch for the delicate putt...Same with the police force. It takes a range of officers. Some, hit heavy. Some nudge. Some knock the ball off the mother-fucking course!"

And then, who should appear but Matt Lucas, of actual Little Britain fame, as some sort of investigator for the Ministry of Paranormal Affairs. Things just get weirder from then on.

Other factors add to the general strangeness of this already bizarre film. Pretty incongruous is that it has clearly been written with the American market in mind, so we see British policemen in the 'vice squad', running around with guns, waving badges in the shape of shields, in what looks like it might be Southampton on a wet Sunday.

And then there is this nagging feeling that half of the cast was once in EastEnders. They just have that kind of gritty-gangster-but-actually-quite-a-pussy-in-real-life look to them.

But this all adds to the fantastically disconcerting atmosphere. In fact my only real gripe is that the crappy font on the case made the title look more like 'Gold & Dark'. Type that into any search engine and all you'll get are pictures up David Dickinson's arsehole.

Ok, that wasn't true. But check this one out. Worthy Seek (http://www.worthyseek.com) is a Christian web search with a fun feature - whatever you search for is repeated back to you at the top of the results page as "Worthy Seek! Are you seeking ...blah...?"

Try typing in "Satan", "persecution" or "choir boys to interfere with". Now that's social commentary!

Now, go straight to Amazon and buy Cold & Dark. Now. Go on. Shoo. Ok then, you can stay here. But I'm leaving. Bye!

2006-06-14T17:17:00.000+01:00

I've decided I'm probably going to hell.

Not in the sense of how you might say, "I've decided I'm going to Tenerife". Oh no. Although Hell and Tenerife probably share many characteristics (very hot climate, bad food, club 18-30 holiday reps), it is not my destination through conscious choice. I am however doubtless to be banished into the infinite pits of oblivion because I am a very bad person.

Let me tell you of the incident that I think tipped the ineffable scales of justice in the direction of eternal hellfire and damnation. It was a normal Sunday afternoon. I still had masses of work to do and so fired up the old computer and launched into a game of online multiplayer Half-Life 2. (Shooting each other 'n' stuff. Good fun).

(Note to girls and those with lives, this article isn't going to be about computer games. So soldier through the next paragraph and then you're safe).

Anyway, they reckon that this game is pretty much impossible to cheat in, for reasons too arcane to detail here (ie I don't understand them). But someone had managed it; running around at twice the speed of everyone else, nearly invulnerable to damage. As you might imagine, this gave him quite an edge and soon he was at the top of the rankings.

The ten billionth time he killed me without me even seeing him coming, I asked him, by means of in-game typing, what he thought he was gaining by this unfairness as he certainly wasn't winning anyone's respect. He replied something to the effect of,

"Har har yore a fucking fa***t and i rool u all."

Maybe it was being talked to like one of his grubby little urchin peers, or maybe all the on-screen killing just overloaded my neurones with violence. But I saw red. And I really went to town, laying into this poor kid with every soul destroying piece of bile I could think of. Profanities were automatically censored, but I wasn't using any. I was knawing like a rat at his cheese of his psyche. I was on fire. Some highlights,

"All those people who bully you at school because you are a nerd. Now you'll show them. Beat them all Half-Life!"
"So you have no real friends. But that doesn't matter, because you have 'friends' on the internet."
"You see the glowing rectangle in front of you? Outside of that is the 'real world'. You should try it. You might even meet girls. Of course, they'll run away at first, but persevere. You might find one who can stand you."

And all he could think to say was to call me a fa***t over and over. And the other people, tired of his dishonest winning, were laughing at him (or at least typing "lol"). Finally, he came back with,

"Yeah, but I am real smart. I kno Dutch! I bet you can't speak a hole nother language! Har har retard!"

"Well," I replied, "I can't speak Dutch, but I have a rudimentary grasp of hieroglyphics and some knowledge of Latin..."

"Rite sumthing latin then"

"Tuus mater canus est"

"Wot duz that mean?"

Several people "lmfao"ed and one person "lshiaraotf" (your guess is as good as mine), then someone translated for him. At that point my computer crashed and died, but I continued chuckling to myself for several minutes until Satan's pointy stick of guilt started poking at my smug-centre. What if that kid was really hurt by my remarks? I bet he gets all that shit at school too, then escapes to the internet only for arseholes like me make fun of him. In the real world I would never dream of being so horrible to anyone.

I tried to turn my computer back on, find the kid and apologise, but my PC was truly kaput. Cost £160 to repair too (now that's karma).

What is the take-home message? "Don't be nasty to people on the internet just because you can"? Could be. "Violent computer games turn people into utterly reprehensible bastards that kick old ladies and drink the blood of kittens"? Possibly. I ain't really moralising here, just trying to salve my conscience.

So kid, if by some strange coincidence you read this, I'm sorry, ok? And if you have any messages for George Bush, let me know. I'll be seeing him real soon.

2006-06-09T17:22:00.000+01:00

For Fucks Bloody Hell Fire Sake, or, How To Get Bank Charges Refunded.

I have just been talking to some semi-functional fool in Halifax for about half a sodding hour, trying to persuade her to refund the £58 pounds they had sucked from me for going £1.28 overdrawn. A mote unfair, you might say. Yeah, you might bloody say that. And for once, the powers that be (ie the Office of Fair Trading) would agree with you. But Miss Branch Manager doesn't. Oh no. Neither she nor her natty nylon trousersuit will budge an inch.

Finally, she handed me a leaflet with a phone number for complaints and I stormed out in a ineffectual way, muttering dark curses and swearing I would withdraw all my money and store it under my mattress. Or I would if I had any money.

Anyway, the woman on the phone was almost unbelievably rude, but she eventually refunded the charges as a 'goodwill gesture'. Hmmm, giving me back money you never should have taken in the first place. Yeah, it's a shame you can't see this gesture - hint, there is nothing 'goodwill' about it. Yeah. You been told.

Anyway, the message is, complain and you might get it back. Or see http://www.govanlc.com/bankcharges.html for good letters to write.

In other, related news, a missing passage of Revelations has been found. Dubbed the 'The Halifax Manuscript', its authenticity is hotly debated by scholars. Here is an extract:

(IV) And Satan was cast down into the Firey Depths of Hell (V) And the Great Serpent caused there to be a Banking Corporation created on Earth to do his terrible Work (VI) And He called it The Hell's Feck, or The Halifax, and said unto it, "Go and spread Discord and Malice amongst the peoples of Earth, create Dispair where there is Hope, and Hatred where there is Love" (VII) And there was much Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

That really does explain a lot.

2006-06-09T16:49:00.000+01:00

I really, really DETEST Harry Potter.

Yes, I know it is not fashionable these days to say how much you hate Harry Potter. Better to feign ennui and move on to the Da Vinci Code.

Although I harbour a little bit of antipathy for Dan Brown and his screenplays, it is mostly just for appearances. At least it keeps its target audience quiet in aeroplanes and other places I don't want to hear them talking loudly about the latest issue of TV Times or Hello ("My goodness, hasn't that Andie MacDowells put on weight", they squeal to each other, "she must be up to four stone by now. She looks absolutely terrible", before swallowing whole the sixth Subway Footlong they just found nestling in their sweaty rolls of lard).

But each and every installment of Harry Bloody Potter that J K Rowling farts at the world from her enormous mansion in the sky has been an abomination. Just hearing some poor misguided soul reel off the unofficial motto of the series - "at least it's got people reading" drives me to fury. Yeah, and we could feed starving children Chicken McNuggets with ground glass and rat poison. "At least it will get them eating".

2006-06-08T17:07:00.000+01:00

Ok, I have moved over to here, can't really be arsed to copy all my old posts. Sorry. Here's the Harry Potter one anyway. Feel free to comment.