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Charlie Tang's Drum Duel

“I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.” Sir Marcus Aurelius Antonious Twain

Hello and bonjour. I know a guy named Dongo. He’s actually a close and personal friend of mine, and he tells some truly amazing stories. In my opinion, Dongo is the most interesting man walking the face of the earth. Admittedly, I only know a handful of people walking the face of the earth, so, yes, I guess chances are that there may be a whole gaggle of people way more interesting than Dongo, but hell, I can’t talk about people I don’t know personally, can I? Dongo knows a Moroccan man who has been working in the tanneries of Fès adding colour to cured animal skins. And check this out: Dongo once shared a train seat with bassist John Deacon, who is perhaps the least interesting member of Queen, but still, it’s kind of cool. To me, my pal Dongo is more interesting than John Deacon and the old man who works in the tannery because, although life in Morocco sounds interesting, as does laying down the bass line for Dragon Attack, Dongo is my only direct point of reference to each scene. So, hell yeah, Dongo is an interesting dude; dare I say way more interesting than the Facebook kid, and certainly one hundred times more interesting than Bono Dingus. But what makes Dongo so extraordinarily interesting? It’s the fact that he is so extraordinarily ordinary. He’s just an ordinary cat who falls ass-backwards into the most bizarre situations.

Dongo’s a good natured guy; one of the very few people that I know who remarkably still believes in the innate goodness of people, continues to have faith in the political process at all levels, and is always ready to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Like The National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States (also known as the 9-11 Commission). Dongo is a model citizen (which actually makes him a little dull come to think of it).

Last Friday Dongo and I had made tentative plans to hang out at my château, shoot some pool, shoot some quail, shoot some die, and shoot the shit and watch The Day of the Triffids. I say ‘tentative’ because casual plans made casually often go straight to hell at the last minute. But on this occasion Dongo made it. Then he told me a wicked story about a duel he had been in a few days ago.

“A duel?” I asked.

“Yeah, man.”

“And you couldn’t just walk away?”

“What? From a duel? No, Kevin. There are times when you have got to take a stand.”

“Damn, I wish I could be more like you.”

“How do you mean?” He looked at me, his head tilted about 45 degrees off his right shoulder. He can dislocate his shoulder whenever he wishes, which I find both interesting and kind of disgusting.

“I’m so apathetic it should actually be outlawed,” I answered picking at a tiny scab on one of my knuckles.

“You should think about changing your attitude,” he said.

“I would, but I seriously don’t give a shit,” I said.

“Damn, you are apathetic,” he said.

“Don’t judge me you bastard!” I huffed and puffed with righteous indignation.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re absolutely right and I apologize. I should not have called you apathetic.”

“Well, I am apathetic, but still man, that’s a shitty thing to call someone. It’s a damn good thing I don’t care,” I yawned. We sat in the living room beside the aquarium with the hermit crabs. Just two old pals with the crabs.

“Okay, Dongo, so what’s the deal with the duel?”

“It really came out of nowhere,” he said flipping through an early draft of my manuscript about Gods, bogs, dogs, Q Rays, X Rays and chewy-chewy gamma rays. He read a few words absently, shook his head and tossed it back on the coffee table. Dongo, due to his hyperactivity, is unable to read anything that contains more than 50 words; personal circumstances I find interesting. “I was at the grocery store buying a pumpkin.”

“For Halloween?”

(WARNING: PRODUCT PLACEMENT #1) “No, I just like pumpkins, and they only seem to come once a year. So, I’m in line with this wicked pumpkin. It must have been like fifty pounds, and it’s the only thing I have. I feel like Atlas trying to hold this thing. Then this guy jumps the line, and he’s got a cart full of stuff, which I can appreciate totally. I mean, sure we have to eat and there was an awesome special on Campbell’s soups. All kinds. Tomato, mushroom, cream of cauliflower, chicken noodle, low-sodium chicken noodle…”

(WARNING: PRODUCT PLACEMENT #2) “I get the picture. Campbell’s makes many fine products.”

“So, he jumps the line. I mean, I have to step back so he doesn’t run over my foot. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he didn’t see me holding my delicious gourd. I would have left it at that. But he looked at me and says – he buddy, wanna step back a bit. I made a casual observation on him jumping line, and that’s when he says that he heard around town that I was going around saying that I was the best drummer in Mattawa.”

“You are an awesome drummer.”

“Thanks man. I appreciate that. But who can claim to be the best at anything? You know how much I love jazz, and be-bop jazz drumming is way different than standard 4-4 rock drumming. Apples and oranges.”

“And pumpkins,” I add.

He laughed. “Anyway, this guy just keeps pushing it. He tells me he’s a drummer over and over and challenges me right there to a drum duel. Say’s he has two kits at his house and that I should come over at dawn and we’ll drum it out to the death.” Dongo bites into an apple.
 

Banjo Boy before the riots.

“A drum duel? Man, I’ve heard of dueling pistols, dueling guitars, and banjos, but to be challenged to a drum duel while buying a pumpkin is the damndest thing I’ve ever heard. So, how did it go?”

“Well,” he laughed. “I went over at dawn, like he said. I knock and nothing. I knock again. Nothing. Then I turn to leave, realizing how ridiculous this whole thing is, but, like I said, when you’re challenged to a duel, you really have no choice. So, I’m just about to get in the car when the door opens and he’s standing there in his underwear and his hair’s a mess and everything. He was obviously sleeping like most people do at dawn. He calls me in and says that the duel was supposed to be for next week. But, I never mess up details, like when to show up for a duel, and he definitely said tomorrow morning at dawn. Not next week at dawn. “

“Plus,” I added, “Who the hell would schedule a duel for a week later? It’s kind of a hasty thing, right? It doesn’t take a whole lot of time to plan, like a class reunion or a wedding where everyone has to fly to the Dominican and the best man has a criminal record for smuggling drugs.”

“Exactly!” he snaps. “So anyway, he tries to call it off, but I tell him I can’t make it because I’ll be in Deep River. So, he scratches his ass, puts on coffee, and we go down into the basement where he has all these posters of Guns and Roses and RATT. Oh and Jethro Tull. But there’s only one drum kit and it looks pretty old. A real shit kit. I ask him where the other one is, and he says that he lied about having two kits and that he didn’t think I’d actually show up.”

(WARNING: PRODUCT PLACEMENT #3) “He clearly didn’t think this duel business out,” I said flipping through the satellite menu. A biography on Colonel Sanders was coming up. That should be interesting, I noted.

“Obviously. He says that he’d been challenging people to drum duels for years, and that I was the first guy who ever actually took him up on in, but I wasn’t there to show him up. The only reason I went is that I believe in the sanctity of the duel, regardless of the form.”

“So, okay, what happens?”

“Well,” Dongo sighs. “It gets kind of sad. He says that he’ll go first and then I can get behind the kit then he’ll get his wife, who is upstairs still sleeping, to come down and she’ll declare the winner.”

“Wouldn’t she be a little biased?”

“That’s what I said. But no. He tells me she would be impartial, and gets a little angry over suggesting that his wife would be anything but one hundred percent objective. So, I figure, sure why not. He has all these weights and stuff with a bench press, so I sit with my coffee and he sits behind the drums and starts banging away like an animal. Just crazy. No beat. No rhythm that I could figure out. And no sooner than that, I hear this stomping upstairs. BOOM. BOOM.BOOM. And down comes his wife in a crazy yellow bathrobe. She starts yelling at him and looks at me like I’m some type of agitator – some type of agent provocateur. Well, that was that. I left them yelling at each other and split. The sun was barely up and the duel was done before it even really got started. Then a few days later I’m at the post office and Adam Gurks comes up to me with this grin and says that he heard that I got my assed served to me on a platter by Charlie Tangs.

“Who the hell is Charlie Tangs?”

“I guess that was the guy that won  the drum duel.”

True story. Amen and holy shit.

Your father’s in the back yard burying the gravy under a full-on double rainbow

 “I feel a hot wind on my shoulder. And the touch of a world that is older.” Stan Ridgeway

Oh, why hello. I didn’t see you there but I must say that it is certainly nice to see you. How do you find yourself? Well? Are things okay? Yes? Family? How is Stuart doing now that he’s on his own? Yeah? Well, that’s just terrific. No, I mean it, that’s really swell. Now, if you don’t mind, please indulge me for a moment while I heap some misdirected abuse. You see my dear reader I just feel the urgent need to clear the air before you decide to bail on this column and pretend that everything’s cool; that everything is swell; that everything is as good as it gets. You see, I had a birthday a few days ago. Yes, that’s right. You forgot. I know. How do I know you forgot? Because I waited by the phone. I waited in the dark in my big fat faux leather ‘waiting-by-the-phone’ chair that I bought at the Brick six years ago and still have yet to begin paying for. This is precisely how I know that you didn’t call with your well-wishes. No, hang on, let me finish. I will actually go one further and suggest that not only did you not call, but that you didn’t even try to call. There. I said it. Pow! Blam! I bet you didn’t see that coming did you? No. You didn’t. I guess you were all too busy googling and carrying on with all that new-age stuff. No, wait, I know, maybe you were all too busy watching the leaves change? Hum? Eh? Chasing full-on double rainbows and unicorn dreams, yeah? Never mind. You can put all your sorrys in a sack and bury it out behind the barn or way back in the pet cemetery. Yikes. Sorry. I seem to have turned into a grumpy old bastard, which I must admit does hold within it certain perks. Now I can park on sidewalks and scream at punks on skateboards. I can pretend I’m deaf when it suits me and may be eligible for one of those fancy walk-in tubs with the little doors and jets and such. Soon I will receive some type of pension that pays pennies for every dollar funneled into it over the years, trusting the Canadian Government to take real good care of everything.

I turned 42 on this the day of my birth which is still celebrated in many countries. It is a national holiday in Chile, where they really know how to throw a birthday party. Sadly, this year my birth was overshadowed by those glory-hogging rock star miners. Sure, it was a good news story and all, but you would think they could have just stayed in that crypt for another few weeks or something.

Refer back to the Farmer’s Almanac for 1968 and you will find that the day of my birth was a glorious one indeed. It was smack dab in the middle of a King’s Harvest. I was born with a serpent in each fist, smoking a big-shot cigar and cursing while distant fires glowed in the smoky autumn night, and so forth and so on. He who is not busy being born is a busy dying. So, there have been 42 King harvests that have come and gone, and let’s just say that since my birth there has been some cool shit that has gone down which I can’t help but take full credit for.

Before I was born it was not unheard of for some quack doctor to drive into your town with a little black bag containing a hammer and a spike, and then proceed to give quickie trans-orbital lobotomies. Dr. Walter Freedman pegged mental illness to overactive emotions and was thusly easily cured by cutting away the capacity to feel any emotions, which was apparently a win-win scene that everyone could dig. Dig? Freeman performed over 2,500 ‘ice pick’ lobotomies all over them there United States of America before his death in 1972, which was four years after the year of my birth. Ice, ice, baby! Hum. So, I like to think that my birth somehow had something to do with the halting of this barbaric sideshow practice.

Let’s see, what else? Oh, since my birth, there were a handful of advances made in space exploration. Then there was the whole thing about most people having their teeth fixed by dentists instead of making their own out of lead. I would suggest strongly that this is a good thing and deserves at least a cheap card from Mac’s? No? Well, there has to be other stuff as well. I think I may have eradicated demonic possessions somehow, or at the very least, reduced the instances significantly, but only on the Western Hemisphere and north of the watershed, whatever the hell that means. Since my birth someone invented shrink wrap. Enough said. Oh, and time travel is now something people have begun to take seriously, thanks to Michael J Fox.

YOU ARE NOT EVICTING TIME

This year (being 2010 AD) I thought I was turning 43, which is incidentally the second time in my 42 years on planet earth that I overshot my age by a balls-out 365 days. This is the second occasion for on which I have successfully manipulated time. My own Event Horizon. Now, that is some quantum shit right there friends. The first time was when I turned 39 fully thinking that I was turning 40. Stephen Hawking is a punk wannabe! Wormholes my ass! On that birthday, as with this one that just passed, my wife waited to tell me the difference a full 24 hours after the blessed day. Anyway, you all should really wish me a happy birthday or something. That's what normal people do. I read this somewhere in a book written by a doctor who drives from town to town with a black bag containing a hammer and an ice pick. So, bake me a cake. Send me a card. Buy me some type of garment. I'm not picky. Just make sure it's expensive, elegant and impractical.

Let’s use the word SEGUE to jump into a totally
unrelated anecdote. If there’s time maybe I’ll get around to something about books or maybe not.

SEGUE

The Waltons moments before the riots. Notice how happy everyone is. Grandpa always said there was no way to delay that trouble comin' everyday. Then again, he was always paranoid when liquored up.

Thanksgiving on Waltons Mountain was always a special time for the Waltons down on Waltons Mountain and so forth and so on. Don’t believe me? Watch the reruns on Vision TV. This year for thanksgiving my dad buried the turkey gravy. The gravy now rests about three feet under ground way down the beaten path in the heart of the pet cemetery. Why did he bury the turkey gravy? Was it some type of strange Mattawa tradition like hiding the egg on Christmas morning in Leutonia? Or did my father bury the turkey gravy in an open act of social defiance or spite? Perhaps he has gone completely demented? He does have those crazy eyebrows that grow up like horns. But, no. It’s simple. He buried the turkey gravy because my mother asked him to get rid of the excess grease and goo left from the fully cooked turkey. Follow? My dad buried the turkey gravy which was in a pot thinking it was the pot containing the turkey grease and such. See? But, why then go to the extraordinary effort of actually breaking ground? Easy; because of the bears that congregates in a somewhat menacing fashion. They smoke cigarettes, roll dice, talk about subversive things while whistling at all the chicks, and eat garbage. My dad buried the turkey gravy, thinking it was turkey drippings, in a hole dug in the backyard as to not attract bears.

“Mom, where’s the gravy?”

“Your father buried it in the back yard.”

“Oh, okay. Where’s the cranberry sauce?
Tied up in the basement?”

Lurch's Video Vault

I like to think there's a little Herve inside all of us

Rights of Survivorship - new novel out fall 2010 - early back and front mockups

Catching Up With Chris Rees from the Bangus Foreign Affairs Bureau

(Note - Bangus FA correspondent Chris Reese has returned from somewhere a changed man. He has become quite vile, suspicious and downright irritable, which makes us love him a little bit more.)

Weird North Korean News

Secretive nation North Korea has some pretty weird items that Bangus readers may be interested in hearing about:

Women's bathing suits. Not the bathing suit your mother wore. Rather the bathing suit your grandmother wore! One piece with sort of mini-skirt around the hips.

Pizzas in Pyongyang cost 4 euros. Which is equivalent to 3 months salary for the average worker. There is at least one Pizzeria in the country.

Kimjongilia – a sort of red begonia flower named after the leader, Kim Jong Il.

The one amusement park in the capital city operates only on select days due to a shortage of fuel.

 

 

Here are a couple of rants from Bangus FA. The opinions presented are not those of the guy who uploads this stuff to the internet.

France:Aren’t you sick of all those people who are sick of the French. I mean mostly it’s just Americans who were angry about the French not going into Iraq. They’ve fallen silent after the war went badly in 2004. Anyways freedom fries are really just French fries, right Mr. McCain?

Germany: I am in love with Oktoberfest. Not just because it’s all about the beer but because it’s just such a great idea. Let’s keep our beer drinking to October only and we’ll all be a lot healthier. Then we can have a huge booze up for one month of the year.

Cambodia: How come there’s so much poverty in Cambodia and yet they got a large tourism industry. Possibly because of hookers but also because it’s exotic there and it’s so cheap. Sihanoukville, a resort made by Prince Sihanhouk is supposedly great but I’ve never been there. It’s pronounced “Snookieville” but has nothing to do with a fat girl on TV.

 Leutonia? Cmon, it’s the 21^st century already. Enough with the oboes and clarinets.

 Swedish wrestler shows his enthusiasm.

Bjorn Leitkopf, Swedish wrestling champ had the letter “W” tattooed to each of his buttocks to celebrate his victory in the national finals. At the end of the match, he pulled down his trunks, bent over and said “WoW, I’m the new champion”

God hates Flags

Westboro Baptist Church are at it again. The cult-like Calvinist church from Topeka Kansas, known for it’s homophobia, ceremoniously burnt the flag of every country declaring: “God hates Flags”

Toronto Hosts Film Festival

Eyes of the world were on Toronto last week for the Toronto International Film Festival. Actual celebrities were present and walked down red carpets to watch films they starred in. Many of the celebrities noted what a vibrant, world class city Toronto has become! Some noted that Toronto was bigger than Hamilton or Ottawa or even Cleveland! Porn Star Sasha Grey spun discs at a disco on Saturday night!!!

 Businessman emulates Lady Gaga

A businessman was so enamoured of Pop diva Lady Gaga that he came to work in a business suit made entirely of meat. Incidentally, the man was a commodities future trader dealing in pork bellies. One old sow in HR is known to have said: “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing”

Top Five most boring places

1. Regina Saskatchewan – so flat you’d believe the earth was not round.
2. Rainham, Kent, England – consists purely of houses and an oil rig offshore.
3. Belgium – Dutchmen and Frenchmen who hate each other. Good beer though
4. Laos – it’s exotic but not to the locals. Thailand has nightlife, Laos has rafting.
5. Hungary – there are only jokes about lack of food

Worst TV Shows ever.

Here is a list of the worst TV shows ever made as determined by Bangus Foreign Affairs Staff. Some readers may not agree but too bad.

1. Friends – Awful relationship comedy about dating. Scary. I hate the East Coast
2. Home Improvement with Tim Allen – there were no jokes. I hate the Midwest.
3. Cop Rock – a musical TV show with singing cops. I kid you not.
4. News – God,who cares? Unless it’s a big terrorist attack or racism. I hate terrorists and racists.
5. Gene Simmons –Maybe he’ll wipe his butt next episode.

The coolest cat on my block!

The Antiterrorist Handbook, the Impeachment of U.S. Federal Judge Thomas Porteous, Vito Corleone and other smoky homemade autumn preserves

“Bene, Don Corleone. I need a man who has powerful friends. I need a million dollars in cash. I need, Don Corleone, all of those politicians that you carry around in your pocket, like so many nickels and dimes.” Virgil ‘The Turk’ Sollozzo

Hey. A few weeks ago I was in a crowded elevator. I could have taken the stairs, but I enjoy acting like a big shot. A big wig. A top dog. A top wig and a big dog to a lesser extent. It was somewhere between the first and second floor when someone farted. It was a classic, awkward moment. I was the only one that laughed.

Sheesh. Not sure why that is. All of this has little to do with the business at hand. Okay, so I’ve been away for a few weeks, yes? Yes. The highlight of my break? Well, I watched the original Sleepaway Camp, finished a manuscript, thought about taking my Schwinn for a quick spin around the block, uhm, and watched my son pick up some dog crap from the back yard. Uh, oh yeah, then there was that whole scene in the elevator. Okay, enough screwing around, now, back to work…

A long time ago when the earth was green I watched a movie with my father. I remember the movie being a little boring, and at the time feeling like the flick was twenty years long. Many of the scenes were darkly lit and were sodden with dialogue mostly involving a portly man who spoke softly out from a mouth full of cotton or marbles. Now, for a six-year-old kid, this movie sucked huge. I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad. They all overdressed and drove classic cars through the boroughs of New York. One scene stuck with me however: an old man with crazy hair in satin pajamas in a big bed with marvellous satin sheets. In the scene, he wakes in horror to discover a severed horse head under the sheets at the foot of his bed. Now, hot damn, that’s some cool cinema. Al Pacino. Jimmy Caan. Marlon Brando. Every time I tried to get out, they kept pulling me back in. Crime, politics and religion all mixed into one hellbroth. Hellbroth is a great word. I first came across it going through some gonzo letters. Now I use it whenever I can. Hellbroth. Hellbroth.

Alright, I’m done with the Corleone saga for the time being. Since (hellbroth) Monday past I’ve been suckered into the latest in reality television shows. It has nothing to do with dancing, or women trying on wedding dresses that most can’t afford for that special day. This reality show, which is essentially a wicked mini-series is actually being broadcast on a CNN.com through live streaming video. The name of the show, which is not very imaginative I must admit, is called The Impeachment of Federal Judge G Thomas Porteous. The show is proudly sponsored by the US House of Representatives who greenlit the affair way back on March 11th. There are no commercial interruptions but a hell of a lot of breaks.

Impeachment sounds a little cool, kind of like being sentenced to become a delightful autumn preserve on a Georgia chain gang. I could certainly think of many things that at least sound worse than being impeached. Evisceration. Castration. Oral surgery. Having someone poke you in the eye with something sharp. Audited. Taking a fitness test. Having your feet cut off while you are sleeping or possibly waking up with a horse head in your bed. Drawn and quartered sounds a bit shitty as well. But to be impeached? Hell, at the very worst, impeachment sounds like when a person is ordered to give back their peaches. For me, I don’t care for peaches. They are pompous and messy and do absolutely nothing for me, so if I was ever impeached, I would be more than happy to give back my peaches.

But, for Judge Porteous, from New Orleans, it sounds like he really likes peaches and is not crazy about giving them back to anyone. Now, why is the US House of Representatives demanding their peaches back from the Judge from down in the Big Easy? Well, it’s alleged that Judge Porteous abused his power. How? Check this out – and before you jump in a decide that he is a monster, the only thing to remember is that the reason he has to give back his peaches is that he got caught doing things with his peaches that are not permitted. There are many people in positions of political power, yes even here in Canada, the land of the free, from the whimsy of small-town politics right up to the hysterics of federal politics that do terrible things with their peaches, or the peaches we have bestowed upon them. But, let’s keep the spotlight on Porteous. Simply:

‘The allegations against Porteous were uncovered during the FBI's Operation Wrinkled Robe, an investigation of the relationship between state judges in Jefferson Parish, where Porteous served until he was appointed a federal judge in 1994, and bail bondsman Louis Marcotte. That 6 -year investigation put court-ordered wiretaps and video cameras in the parish courthouse and brought 14 convictions, including those of two state judges who were sent to federal prison. In addition to making false statements under oath and taking gifts from attorneys, the charges against Porteous include hiding assets from the bankruptcy estate, leaving gambling losses off the list of (hellbroth) debts and getting short-term credit from casinos after the bankruptcy judge ordered him to get approval of the court before taking on any debt. The probe also uncovered evidence that Porteous rejected a request to step down from a case without revealing that he had a history of financial relationships with at least one attorney involved and leaving lawyers gifts of financial disclosure statements from 1994 to 2000. Porteous stepped aside from all civil cases involving the federal government and all criminal cases in 2003, after a relative of Marcotte said the bondsman — sent to prison for racketeering — had paid for Porteous' car repairs and arranged another favor.’

Source: http://www.tulanelink.com/tulanelink/porteousimpeach_08a.htm

Okay. It’s not even a criminal proceeding. It’s just a huge expense meant to shame and embarrass someone into admitting they spoiled their peaches. Bill Clinton, my favourite US President starred in his own Impeachment show in 1998. Clinton’s was more fun-filled, as what he did with his peaches was way more imaginative that what Porteous did with his. Porteous had his car detailed and his porch fixed. Clinton? Well, that’s a whole different scene.

Book Time? Yes. Book time!

A friend who goes by the name Jonny (hellbroth)Thrombosis told me to read a book. He’s from the UK. So I did. When a guy from the UK tells you to read a book, well, you read a book, lest you wake up with a severed horse head in the bed. The Antiterrorist Hand Book. It’s brilliant, funny and timely. It’s one of those books I wish I had read before it was written. Google it. Buy it. Don’t take it from me. Take it from Jonny Thrombosis.

Bangus has Lenny for one night only for Wendy's Confirmation

All is welcome. Please bring Wendy a gift. 

Tired of high ticket prices for shitty movies?

let's all go to the lobby, let's all go to the lobby, and so forth and so on...

 Hey. I don't go out much for a million reasons. But Eli Roth drew me out. Piranha 3D. For me, two kids and wife, it cost over 50 bucks just for tickets. But I was in way too deep. I rationalized the obscene ticket prices with the argument that it simply costs more to produce movies using all that cutting edge bullshit. The movie was fine, but the 3D added nothing to it. All it did for me was give me a pulverizing headache. 3D is a bullshit money grab. Amen and holy shit.

Rees Goes Back in Time to August 17th 2010 - A much simpler time and so forth

Where: London, UK

What: Doctor’s worry that Lady Gaga condition may be contagious.

Lady Gaga is currently suffering from a sexually transmitted disease that leads to her creative impulses leaking from her genitals during intercourse. Doctors in London, UK now fear that the disease has spread to British performer Elton John and he may be losing his creative forces through unprotected sex. Said one doctor “He really hasn’t done anything good since Benny and the Jets”

Where: Kenya, Africa

What: Women’s liberation indicators up in African Country.

The tiny African nation of Kenya is making leaps and bounds in women’s equality according to a survey conducted last month. The rate of Women-owned business improved to 15% of businesses while the incidence of savage domestic assault declined to only 80% of households.

Where: Asia

What: 3D porn film in the works in Japan

Moviegoers in Tokyo Japan will soon be able to enjoy a 3D pornographic film when shooting is completed in a few days. Viewers will be issued special 3D goggles to view the action. Those opting to view the hardcore version will also be given a gasmask and raincoat.

Where: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

What: Samba dancer charged with decency.

Officials at the Rio de Janeiro samba parade say that they have asked police to charge a samba dancer with decency. The charges specifically state that the dancer’s private parts were covered with items larger that a post-it note and that the peacock feathers inserted into her behind were less that 7m long and 5cm thick.

Got cheese?

THE BANGUS BOOKISH RERUN BOOK OF THE DAY

WILLIAM GOLDING
LORD OF THE FLIES (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH LORD OF THE RINGS DANCE FLIES)

I ate this huge turkey roll and had seven beer then went right to bed because I had to get up early for work. I had a bad sleep. I kept dreaming of terrible, terrible things. One was being stranded on an island without any cameras following me around or lawyers asking me to sign disclaimers and waivers. Do you see where I’m going with this? There’s a shitty television series on this whole deserted island and many writers have tried their hand at the ‘stranded’ vibe, but no one comes close to William Golding (namely because he died in 1993).

William, this one’s for you big fella! Here’s the deal with Lord of The Flies: A plane carrying young British preps crashes into a tropical island, presumably shot down as World War II wages on in throughout Europe. Kids are scattered everywhere. They come together to form alliances and enemies and everything goes to hell rather quickly. So, who do we have here: there’s Ralph - the smart, levelheaded natural leader and then there’s the clumsy Piggy. Then there’s this other kid, shit, I forget his name, anyway, he gets tired of listening to the level-headed Ralph and forms his own hedonistic militia and lets go with the wild times. Jack, yeah, I think that’s his name. He’s a bit of a nut. He bands his troops together and rips off on some weird rampage meanwhile everyone hears weird shit in the jungle. The young population of the island degenerates into an uncivilized lynch mob and blood is shed. It’s that age old story about what happens when people are stranded on a desert island without their ten favourite records. But, alas, they get rescued and there is some morale floating around. The Simpson’s did a version of this book with monkey butlers and Nelson playing the psycho.

Okay. Here’s how it starts: The boy with the fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon.

Here’s how it ends: The officer, surrounded by these noises, was moved and a little embarrassed. He turned away to give them time to pull themselves together; and waited, allowing his eyes to rest on the trim cruiser in the distance.

From the Foreign Affairs Desk of Chris Rees

 Top 10 countries as determined by Bangus FA. I like these places but haven’t visited them.

Thailand – Some bars serve “Pina Colada’s”

Vietnam – Gary Glitter got arrested here for child molestation – good policework

Central African Republic – used to be an empire (cool)

Korea – has world’s sexiest girls

Uruguay – because it’s so close to sounding like “Paraguay”

Australia – deserts, kangaroos, crocs, it’s got everything

Leichtenstein – punches above it’s weight - see tax haven issue

Andorra – totally obscure country

Conga – it suffered a lot last 10 years so it got my sympathy vote

Iraq – with apologies to Bush haters

Top 10 world problems as determined by Bangus FA.

Israel Palestinian problem – They’ll blow up the world someday

Al Qaeda – bloody terrorists

Dearth of good TV emanating from USA – Friends was the death of TV

Haemorrhoids – believe me it’s a problem

Global warming – Just thought I’d put it in. Al Gore is a wanker

Feminism – we hope for hate mail from Germaine Greer.

Low Birth rates – some babies grow up and work for a living

Socialism – see babies, above. There’s just not enough tax revenue

Food riots – not enough bread getting to some countries

Corruption – Most world governments are corrupt. Even Obama a little bit.

Top 10 music acts in world history

Radiohead – best rock band ever

Rolling stones - all the drugs and sex anyways

Mitsou – sexy vote

4 minute – a Korean all-girl band with Jiyoon (ooh la la)

Beethoven – really dark and moody genius who was also deaf

Bach – “ahh Bach” thought the God Emperor of Dune

Vivaldi -  see “Vivaldi Winter” on Youtube

Ramones – Punks on glue and pizza

Tang Dynasty – not a soft drink, it’s a top Chinese rock band per wikipedia

Filmi- most popular music in India as per wikipedia

Top 10 TV shows of all time according to impact on world culture

Monty Python – the funniest TV show ever

Top Gear – UK TV show about cars. Goes around the world and is lots of fun

World Cup Soccer – most watched except for Cricket I think

Sopranos – rated best by The Guardian. Worldwide phenomenom

Gilligan’s Island – castaways meet headhunters

Friends – popular in Asia but I don’t know why. Hate it personally

Simpsons – hugely famous worldwide. Personally I’m sick of it.

Survivor – famous throughout the world, started in Sweden

Jade Phoenix – top Chinese show about a phoenix made of jade

MTV – the Indian version. Not the US version. It’s top in India

Hay Bale Roll Over Mike Edwards Beethoven - RIP

Gone till September, I'll be gone till September. Don't you know that I'll be gone till September

While I am away, please enjoy this beautiful picture of a bear in it's natural habitat. While I am away, please don't crash my hip pad. While I am away, if you do crash into my hip pad, don't touch anything, and whatever you do, no parties and if you do break into my home take off your shoes and don't go into the tiny room under the stairs.

More Bangus Superficial Book Reviews

 Don Quixote


Written by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra sometime in the early 17th Century, some real smart literary people claim that Don Quixote was the “first novel”. I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. I thought Valley of the New York Dolls by Johannson was the first novel but again, none of this academic stuff is important to the task at hand, which is the provide a sketchy review of this thing. Right out of the gates the book is timeless and balls-out hysterical. There’s Don Quixote, the main guy, who is old and infatuated with the days-gone-by with the chivalry and knighthood silliness and damsels and all that other stuff from medieval times before it became a theme eatery for the gluttonous. Those day have long passed but not in his twisted old mind. Poor Don-Don. He’s convinced that he is a ‘knight errant’ and he is thusly obliged to seek out adventure and fully live out this delusion with comic results o’plenty. His shenanigans get him beaten and whipped, mangled and maimed. It’s classic bloodletting. He convinces Sancho Panza, his fat dopey neighbour to become his ‘squire’ and between them both they stumble ass-backwards from one trouncing to the next all in the name of his ‘damsel’ in distress— the ugly Dulcinea de Toboso.

Sancho is promised his own country by Don Quixote but instead gets flogged and tormented. Each chapter is pretty well self-contained so if you’re lazy and just wanna check out a certain adventure without committing to the whole book, just skim the chapter headings (An adventure on leaving the inn, The adventure with the corpse, The prophesying ape…)

So, eventually after a bunch of funny crap, the old man has a moment of clarity and snaps out of his dementia just in time to die and so forth and son on. The book is a bit bloated like Vince Neil or Liza Minelli, so I wouldn’t blame you for just ambling out and renting the movie with John Lithgow and Isabella Rossilini.

Okay, there’s this delicious line somewhere towards the end where Sancho Panza, the squire, is bummed at always getting the shit-end of the stick so in typical maudlin fashion he begins to bitch and moan, finishing up with this gem: “Fortune is a drunken, freakish dame…”

It’s a great one-off line and a humbling sentiment. I’m thinking of having tattooed on my back So, here’s how this thing begins:

In a certain village down in La Mancha, which I do not wish to name, there lived not long ago a gentleman one of those who have always a lance in the rack, an ancient shield, a lean horse, and a coursing grey hound.

Here’s how it ends: For my sole object has been to arouse men’s contempt for all fabulous and absurd stories of knight errantry, whose credit this tale of my genuine Don Quixote has already shaken, and which will, without a doubt, soon tumble to the ground. Farewell.

There’s a handful of editions with different translations. Stay away from the Yiddish edition - your tongue will swell.

Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn - Troll II kicks serious cinematic ass!