Showing posts with label Mitt Romney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mitt Romney. Show all posts

Friday, 9 November 2012

Four More Years, Mittches!!!

1. Costa Coffee using my favourite song this week - I Was Made For Loving You by KISS - is awesome, even if the residents of Totnes are trying to kick them out of town. They may well be a rapacious multinational, but Damn! They know music.

2. Ash Dieback, the fungal disease laying waste to the trees of the British countryside, sounds very much like the title of a Rammstein song.

3. A death in the family forces us to contemplate our own mortality. I've been doing that a lot and getting very maudlin. Wade Kojo Williams passed away on Monday. He was my Uncle on my Mother's side. The 'Williams' part is very important. When we were growing up ANY virtues or talents we expressed were explained by Mater as being "like the Williams", whereas any missteps, plainly, were due to us being "so Creese".

I can't speak for my Sis, or my Bro', but as a youngster I was of the opinion that these Williamses were a little bit up themselves, until we eventually met them when we took a family jaunt to St Vincent. They were pretty all right actually (apart from the relative who said I walked like a "bow-legged bitch"), and Uncle Wade was a bit of a legend: a journalist, a celebrated songwriter, parliamentarian and an active member of the community. In his time in Winnipeg he served as:


  • President of the National Black Coalition of Canada (Winnipeg Chapter);
  • President of the National Council of St. Vincent and the Grenadines Associations in Canada;
  • President of the St. Vincent and the Grenadines Association of Winnipeg;
  • President of the Manitoba Intercultural Council (MIC);
  • Representative on The Visible Minority National Council on Canadian Labour Force Development;
  • Chairman of the Black History Month Celebration Committee;
  • Member of the Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination - Social Planning Council of Winnipeg;
  • Chairman of the Martin Luther King Memorial Committee;
  • Executive Member of the Afro-Caribbean Association of Manitoba;
  • Founder and Chairman of the Manitoba Coalition of Organizations Against Apartheid and Racism;
  • Founder and Chairman of the Forum for the Awareness of the Minority Electorate;
  • Multiculturalism Director of the Liberal Party of Manitoba;
  • President of the St. Norbert Liberal Association;
  • Executive Member of the Assiniboine-Fort Garry Residents Advisory Group (City of Winnipeg);
  • Founder and Chairman of Students Against Apartheid (University of Winnipeg);
  • President of Caribbean Students Association (University of Winnipeg);
  • Founding Executive Member of The Calypso Association of Winnipeg;
  • Co-Founder of the Winnipeg Calypso and Reggae Competitions;
  • Co-Founder of the annual Winnipeg Soca-Reggae Festival and Member of the Manitoba Senior Provincial Cricket Team.
  • He was also a member of several Caribbean Folk Groups/Choirs in Winnipeg.


Truly an exceptional man, and a bit of an inspiration. He will be greatly missed.

His funeral is taking place in Winnipeg, Canada, and I'll be accompanying my Mother, which'll be a laugh riot. I get my sense of humour and sunny disposition from her. Ask my sister. She calls me 'Smiler'.

4. So I skipped over to Liverpool to sort out my passport. The last time I was in the city was a few years ago to rehearse with an early line-up of Damaged Gods, which disintegrated when the guitarist and bassist started banging each other - Gina, the bassist, went on to play briefly for all-girl metal maidens McQueen - so I was surprised at how well I was able to navigate its streets.

Having about four hours to kill before my passport was ready I popped into a Tesco Express to grab some overpriced sustenance, and scanned the newspaper stand for a publication which would entertain me whilst I sat in my car waiting for the paperwork to be completed. Obama's face beamed triumphantly from the front pages of the newspapers whilst, on the shelves above, a scarlet tressed Holly Hagan proffered her sizeable mammaries like shoddily constructed Blancmange desserts. I decided that Roger Moore's autobiography would prove more engaging and stuck with my Chicken and Bacon sandwich, Strawberry and Banana smoothie and a pack of Cool Breeze Extra chewing gum, resolving to check out the Obama reaction to, and analysis of, his re-election online when I got home.

Ah, Obama... He's as war mongering and as slavishly bound to the notion of the expanding American Empire as his half-wit predecessor. That Hopey/Changey thing didn't really pan out, did it? Drone attacks and Guantanamo aren't going away anytime soon, kinda proving that even if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it still might turn out to be a bit of a cunt. On the subject of cunts, seeing the response of the sore loser Republicans was definitely worth it.

Donald Trump called for revolution. A subdued and sombre Ann Coulter intoned, "I'm pretty pessimistic about the country. We have more takers than makers and it's over. There is no hope," whilst Ted Nugent tweeted, "Pimps whores & welfare brats & their soulless supporters have a president to destroy America". Fox News host and attack dog of the bigoted right, Bill O'Reilly, lamented the erosion of the white establishment:
"The white establishment is now the minority. The voters, many of them, feel that the economic system is stacked against them and they want stuff. People feel that they are entitled to things and which candidate, between the two, is going to give them those things? Obama wins because it's not a traditional America anymore. The white establishment is the minority. People want things."
Poor fella. His whole world had fallen apart. He looked devastated. I almost felt sorry for him, even as he employed the stereotype of ethnic minorities being feckless spongers. And that's the Republican Party's problem: its hijacking by the extreme neo-cons means that it isn't inclusive enough and as a result Mitt only made inroads into the hearts and minds of the electorate each and every time he moved to the centre, which left him open to charges of 'flip flopping' and hypocrisy. Ronald Reagan would be too moderate for his own party now.

They and the purblind others of their type need to wake up and recognise that times are changing. Watching one's parents forced at gunpoint to engage in sexual intercourse in a bath of warm excrement would be more fulfilling and better for one's conscience than voting Republican. Compare their separatist language with the following from Obama's acceptance speech:
"The idea that if you're willing to work hard, it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from or what you look like or where you love. It doesn't matter whether you're black or white or Hispanic or Asian or Native American or young or old or rich or poor, able, disabled, gay or straight, you can make it here in America if you're willing to try."
Much nicer and genuinely inspiring, isn't it? But then, he meticulously employs a lexicon designed to be inclusive, which is a very good thing indeed. Just try to avoid looking at the detail, eh? At the very least the average American woman will have control of her own uterus for the next 4 years, which I shall address during my 2 hour stopover in Chicago later today. BOOM!

I'm kidding.

Or am I...?

Yes. Yes, I am.

* The Monkey Obama t-shirt comes courtesy of the white supremacist website Tightrope. Also in this series "Fight Crime. Abort Black Babies."and "Bureau of Negro Control."

Monday, 8 October 2012

KISS and sell-out

So, I'm watching the movie Ted and I squeal with pleasure when I see a KISS poster on the titular teddy bear's bedroom wall. I LOOOOOVE KISS. Always have. In 1994 they released an album entitled Kiss My Ass on which Lenny Kravitz, Stevie Wonder, Tom Morello and Maynard James Keenan paid tribute to the self-proclaimed Gods Of Thunder. Seth McFarlane and I are not the only celebrities who love them.

The day I encountered KISS for the first time changed my life. It was at my baby sister's birthday party and one of the guests brought a couple of KISS discs to rock the house. The covers alone intrigued me. I guess it was because they looked so different and were utterly unapologetic. It was something with which I could identify and, weirdly, they were a source of strength when everything went a little bit Nazi at school. I have KISS to thank for my desire to make music, and Gene Simmons to thank for the thrilling dexterity and flexibility of my expert tongue.

The brilliant thing about KISS is that even though their songs are utterly peerless - sticking rigidly to the pop template set out by The Beatles, but with heavy, overdriven guitars - you don't have to like the band to dig their live show. For example, you've got to really enjoy Bono's preening sanctimony to derive any sort of pleasure from a U2 concert. Whereas with KISS, well, "You wanted the best, you got the best!" has always been their battle cry (the rabidly dedicated fans are called the KISS Army). Who amongst us doesn't love guitars which shoot rockets, drums which levitate 50 feet in the air, singers who fly over the heads of the audience, or blood spitting, batwinged demons sporting dragon platform boots who breathe fire? Sufuckingperb!

They have sold more than 100 million records and have officially licensed over 3,000 products since their bigger-than-The Beatles 1970s heyday including KISS Marvel comics; KISS credit cards; KISS condoms; KISS Him and KISS Her fragrances; KISS action figures; the KISS Kasket (a coffin featuring pictures of the band and a tasteful logo); KISS Monster Mini-Golf Amusement Center in Las Vegas; KISS pinball machines; the KISS Coffeehouse; and emblazoning Hello Kitty and Family Guy merchandise with KISS imagery.

KISS were the very first Rock Brand and a marketing strategist's wet dream. They opened the door for non-entities like Tulisa from X-Factor to have her own perfume.
"I wanted a fragrance that I could relate to. Something powerful without losing its girlieness. I wanted to be able to wear it day and night. This fragrance will really give the girls the confidence to show those boys who is boss!"
And we all know that the latest James Bond movie (heard the Adele tune yet? What the fuck is a "Skyfow"? Or a "Crumbow"? It's truly dreadfow) will be a product placement fest. A quick scan of the website reveals that they're selling bottles of 007 Bollinger Champagne for £150 and there's a list of products which have been featured in previous movies;
"In the movie GoldenEye Bond is drinking Jack Daniel's whiskey with M in her office. The bottle can be seen on the counter, at around 49 minutes into the movie." 
Anyway, I was buying my Sean John (the clothing and fragrance company of Sean 'P Diddy' Combs) I Am King Eau De Toilette in the Skelmersdale Concourse last week and I noticed that on one of the top shelves of the Mens section, next to the cut price Beckham Instinct they had a bottle of Sex Pistols fragrance which proclaimed "Certainly, there's a revolution in this bottle." How punk is that? Almost as punk as John Lydon saying about the Palestinians "If Elvis-fucking-Costello wants to pull out of a gig in Israel because he's suddenly got this compassion for Palestinians, then good on him, but I have absolutely one rule, right? Until I see an Arab country, a Muslim country, with a democracy, I won't understand how anyone can have a problem with how they're treated."

Butter selling tosser. You are the antichrist indeed.

Despite having KISS action figures in my attic (you're officially sad if you keep them in their boxes, so I bought 2 sets: 1 to recreate their classic concerts and 1 which will stay sealed to form the better part of my estate once I'm dead) and the impending release of their 20th studio album Monster, I've reached an impasse. One which might see me officially revoke my membership of the KISS Army and go AWOL.

Slavishly adhering to the "If something's worth doing, it's worth overdoing," mantra KISS recently released an autographed photo book priced at a trouser-filling, wait for it... $4,250. Let me just write that in words: four thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars. For a book. A book! If I was laying out that amount of do$h I'd need to be able to drive that sucker to work. At a time when many of us are struggling to get by, it's aberrant that a band which purports to be of the people would put out something like this, which is obviously skewed towards their weekend golfing buddies.
"We understand it’s not for everybody, but it wouldn’t be fair to the people who can afford it and appreciate it to not put it out.  It’s something for a select few.  One size doesn’t fit all with KISS.  Just like those people who have the front row seats, this is a book for people who can afford it."
They're officially the Marie Antoinette of Rock 'n' Roll and chillingly echo the acidic sentiments of Mitt Romney:
"There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it... My job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives."
Little wonder Gene's rooting for Mitt in the upcoming election. As I'm typing this paragraph, my sister's just sent me a text which says, "Ahhh. KISS! Special memories." And she's right. There are whole swathes of my life which have a KISS soundtrack. Songs which have a special significance and transport me back to a specific time and place. I became The World's Greatest Drummer® by playing along to KISS records: slowing them down so I could work out how Peter Criss played his Jazz-flavoured fills. Any time I play a show I channel the spirit of Gene Simmons and gather darkness to please me.

The thing is, on reflection, KISS never had any integrity. They've never even pretended to have any integrity. They had a go once (the glorious prog rock misstep which was The Elder), fell flat on their faces and never tried again. Indeed their whole career has been a long, slow, deep fucking of integrity's ass. So this book thing is no surprise really... And you never just fall out of love, do you? It's impossible...

Anyone want to lend me $4,250?