Dominic F - I Need Somewhere To Melt Tonight

Dominic F - I Need Somewhere To Melt Tonight by Dominic Zero
I was going to write a whole load of stuff about this - my one and only completely solo effort - and then I thought, nah, fuck it. It is what it is. Semper Fi.

Oxygen Pete - Julie Christie

Oxygen Pete - Julie Christie by Dominic Zero

Away From Skaro - Fingers Disguised (As Clouds In My Eyes)

Away From Skaro - Fingers Disguised (As Clouds In My Eyes) by Dominic Zero

Terror Fish - The Squeaking Goblin

Terror Fish - The Squeaking Goblin by Dominic Zero

The Amazing Cattle - The Canadian

The Amazing Cattle - The Canadian by Dominic Zero

The Unbearable Fatness Of Being

I seem to have recently achieved fatness. Or Higher Fatness. Don't get me wrong, I've always been on the big side, except maybe for those glory years between 1982 and 1985 when I was permanently speeding off my crust and was maybe eating once every four days or so. I looked fucking great back then, it's a crying shame no fucker told me.
And now I have achieved fatness.

Shit, even my hair's fat.
I haven't achieved a great deal in my life. Here's a few of my bonafide life achievements:

A letter from somebody very high up at BBC World Service thanking me for calming down studio guest Sir Ian McKellan because he was freaking fucking out at his less than satisfactory treatment at 0530. I guess it's not too much to ask to at least be given a chair. Let alone a fucking cup of tea. And it was a letter. With a proper biro written signature at the bottom. A paper letter in a paper fucking envelope with my fucking name written on it. None of this modern cyber shit.

A phone call at work from my boss Paul Raymond congratulating me on having told up and coming Brit director Neil Jordan to 'Fuck Off'' whilst he was demanding that I give him a phone. He was shooting Mona Lisa in the theatre I was working in and I was under orders to keep the phone free. Neil Jordan was Very Rude.
I was Very Rude back.

The same day at the same place of work Bob Hoskins going and getting me a bacon sandwich.

Looking after Tom Verlaine's guitar while he did an interview.

Telling a director of a 12 hour OB that I could get a thirty piece orchestra off stage in forty seconds then doing it in 35 seconds.

Well, I suppose achievements are things you strive for, and I can't honestly say I spent years working towards Bob Hoskins going and getting me a bacon sandwich, but you know what I mean.If eating a large doner & chips then three Double Caramel Magnums is striving for fatness then that is exactly what I've been doing. So I've achieved fatness. I strived for it and now I've got it. I should be glad that I can't see my cock. And proud.

'Welcome To The World' - The Amazing Cattle

'Things In My Eyes' - The Amazing Cattle

'I Wish I Was Dead' - The Amazing Cattle

'Sensuous' - The Amazing Cattle

'I Am The Tambourine' - Live - The Amazing Cattle

Hail Hydra

Well, I suppose at some point in one's life one has to buy a travel card holder and I have finally reached that point.
I saw this and it fucking HAD to be bought.

Stewart Lee - 5 - Big Brother Scandal - 41st Best Stand-Up Ever

Jupiter Vs Heather Locklear

So. My cat, Jupiter (aka Cat #5), has stress. I took him to the vet and the vet diagnosed him as being very stressed out. The vet then spun the chamber on a hefty automatic containing one bullet, shoved the barrel in my mouth, and screamed 'Your fucking cat has fucking stress!' and pulled the trigger. There was just a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Phew.

Oh, hang on, I think I'm getting two things mixed up here.

It may not have happened quite that way. I did have a dream the other night where Kate Beckinsale was hunting me with a Russian KSVK 12.7 bolt action sniper rifle. And Cat #5 was more than likely on the bed purring in my ear whilst this was going on. It was a great dream. Beckinsale was looking good in fatigues.

I don't normally dream. Or if I do I don't usually remember what I've dreamed. Though as I drifted off that night, with Cat #5 sitting next to my pillow staring at me as though he'd never fucking seen me before, I was thinking through a scene in my next book where the lady villain lays down some sniper fire on some unfortunate people who really don't deserve it. But that character, in my brain, is based on Heather Locklear, not Kate Beckinsale. And she's using a 1950s Norwegian Mauser M59, not the 1990s KSVK.

Aaahhh. I see. I'm living in the past, and my subconscious is attempting to drag me up to date. It all makes perfect sense. And Cat #5 is obviously worrying his fur off when he sees the night time struggle that I'm going through. Locklear vs Beckinsale. Old guns vs new guns. TJ Hooker vs The Wire. And only Cat #5 sees me at night - contorted and physically wracked with conflict. He wants me to drag myself out of the '80s.

Well, fuck you Jupiter. And you too subconscious. When this book gets published and I sell the film rights -Fuck you Beckinsale, Locklear's getting the part.

So, anyway, my cat has stress. He's over-grooming apparently, which means he may go bald. Well, let me tell you, if he goes bald he's out. I'm not having a bald cat around the place. My life's fucking weird enough as it is.

Stewart Lee Came In My Shop

As I was saying..Well, okay, it's been six months since I wrote anything here, and the last post was, well, lacking shall we say. But then, Octopus 99 is a lacking blog.
I've been, well, busy. Three years running a shop. That ended last week. Thursday to be precise. And on Friday, as we spent the day clearing up, putting shit in bags & sweeping the floor & killing the moths and spiders, I went outside for a cigarette and Stewart Lee was looking in the window at a pile of Robert E Howard books I had left there. He looked exactly like Stewart Lee.

Over the years I have often thought I might have been a comedian. Too well adjusted, though. And too lazy. It would have meant actually doing something, writing stuff & shit. Anyway, I'm not a comedian and Stewart Lee is. So is Jerry Seinfeld.

Jerry Seinfeld never came in the shop, but Bruce Montague did. Yes, the Bruce Montague, off Butterflies, 1978-1983. Mrs Zero recognized him. I wouldn't have known him from a lump of pigeon shit. Maxwell Caulfield was in the same Goddamned play as him in Barnstaple and he didn't bother coming in our shop. The Maxwell Caulfield...off The Colbys AND Dynasty AND Grease Fucking 2. That would have impressed me. What a fucker.
Other celebrities that didn't come in our shop : Simon Amstell, The Saturdays, er, Todd Carty (The Saturdays' Frankie Sandford, take away the wet-look leggings & you've got nothing...see Bugwar for details).

Anyway. If I had become a comedian I imagine I would have been in the vein of Stewart Lee, or Jerry Seinfeld, or Dennis Leary. But I didn't. This is probably principally because I'm not very funny. But as much as anything it's just as probable that I'm too fucking lazy and too well adjusted and couldn't possibly stand in front of a bunch of people trying to make them laugh. For one thing I don't like people enough to give a shit whether they think I'm funny or not. For another thing, I don't like people very much. I suspect that's probably the fault of the Coalition Government.
But I can die safe in the knowledge that, although I wouldn't have been anywhere near as funny as any of those three, I would definately have been funnier than Phil Fucking Jupitus. But then, who isn't funnier than Phil Fucking Jupitas? Eichmann was funnier. A lot funnier.

So Stuart Lee came in the shop at my invitation, and it was all I could do not to slobber over him as he bought two Robert E Howard books. I inhaled deeply on my Marlboro Silver as he left (cigarettes are colours now...no Mediums, no Lights...nobody knows what the fuck they're smoking anymore, although I'm pretty sure SuperKings still kill you quicker than anything else), and he turned and came back and bought another Robert E Howard book. I swear to God I almost came.

As Stewart Lee drifted away I looked at the three pound coins in my sweating palm and wept.

Termite Gangs

You've gotta love The French. Paris is currently suffering an infestation of 'Termite Robbery Gangs' who tunnel up underneath banks. Fucking brilliant.

My Favourite Joke

Baby Polar Bear : "Mummy, are you sure I'm really a polar bear?"

Mother Polar Bear : "Of course you're a polar bear. Why do you ask?"

Baby Polar Bear : "Beacause I'm fucking freezing."

Flash Gordon The Director's Cut

As re-discovered by Niowulf, the best bit of Flash Gordon that's always cut when it's on telly.
It was not cut the other day, however, when he was watching it with his kids.
Classic stuff.

A-Rod

Andy Roddick - through to the Australian Open quarters in in five sets. Hang in there, dude.

Octopus 99 Review Of 2009

Well now, as years go I've had better ones than 2009, about 47 of them in fact, but I won't drone on about my personal life like some kind of self-piteous arse. Even though, generally speaking, I'm usually quite the sympathy wretch and am, most definitely, an arse.

As far as Popular Culture goes, I really can't decide whether 2009 was good or bad or neither. This could well be down to the fact that I barely watched any movies or telly, only read about three comics and listened to next to no music. Looking back the whole year seems like a vague blur. I remember some famous paedo dying. I remember some Nazi bloke being on Question Time. I remember wearing my Luftwaffe gloves to Kid Shirt's big birthday bash. I'm pretty sure Boy George went to prison (now that is fucking Karma). And I remember my pal Sean F appearing after five years in the wilderness and getting so pissed with him my eyes actually fell out.

I did, however, read a lot of books. An awful lot of books, due to my endless journeying between Ilfracombe and London, though about 90% of these were old pulps and science fiction. The Shadow, the Modesty Blaise series in its entirety, plus mucho Stephen Hunter and Roger Zelazny all kept me from going commuter insane. I did read the first two volumes of Peter F Hamilton's Void trilogy, which were ace (and heavy - physically heavy. It was like carrying lead bars around), but now I have to wait at least a fucking year for the last one to come out, which kind of turns it all into a slightly negative experience.

And what of Girls Aloud? They seemed to be disintegrating like old bones in an acid bath, all of them selfishly branching out into new careers. Nadine's a property tycoon. Ruff Nicola's some kind of pale make-up guru, the blonde one's bought a club. And Cheryl - crikey - Cheryl exploded all over us like a bursting balloon of shit - becoming a brand new Posh Spice, updated like a later version of Action Man. She can talk and everything. When Cheryl's finally worn out from all the fame and the cash the next version will presumably have gripping hands and realistic hair.
And as for Kimberley....
...poor Kimberley. Oh, where did it all go wrong? Always the most respected and desired of the GAs on this blog, she must be desperately hoping the band stays together just for a while until she can think of something new to be. I know..go porn, go on, you know it would work.

I didn't catch too many movies, not enough time and all movies are TOO LONG. Saw The Dark Knight. Didn't think much of it. Rather like the James Bond reboot - once they'd done one they just gave up and went back to the old Joel Shcumacher style of over-edited toss.

Saw star Trek. Another reboot, or re-imagining or whatever the fuck it was. They wasted Eric Bana and they made Winona Ryder look old then killed her. That's shameful. And they obviously spent an awful lot of time finding actors who looked and sounded like Kirk, Spock and McCoy, but when they got to Uhuru apparently they just signed up the first black woman that walked past.

I really think re-imagining Terrahawks might have had more mileage in it.

And Valkyrie. Which was pretty good really. Very interesting. Despite Tom Cruise looking just too fucking American to be a Nazi. Or non-Nazi. Apparently you need legions of British actors to play all the other Germans. What was slightly dodgy was that the Bad Germans had accents and the Good Germans didn't. Thin ice. Although maybe that's how you could tell them apart in the war, so perhaps it was an accuracy thing. And I can't believe the shit ending..totally fucking up killing Hitler then all getting shot or hanged with piano wire. What a downer.

Which leads nicely onto Ingloooriuz Bistards, in which, I'm sure you know, they don't fuck up killing Hitler in the slightest.

My basic problem with this film was that the eponymous Nazi Hunters were A/ Barely In It and B/ Totally Irrelevant To The Plot. Still, better than most of Mr QT's other stuff, but I think it should have been called Vengeful Jewish Woman. Or Vungfeel Jowish Wooomun as QT would have spelt it.

I also found out, in 2009, that if you tell people that you don't like the movie Pulp Fiction, they think you're a fucking idiot.

The best film I saw all year was actually Hell Is For Heroes, which Kek kindly sent me for my birthday. In fact, here's a Perfect Night In: Hell Is For Heroes, Rambo and Taken. Trust me.

Close second has to be Mega Shark Vs Giant Octopus. It's a fucking classic. Lorenzo Lamas and Debbie Gibson have never been better. Never.

Actually, speaking of my birthday, how come nobody got me the Rachel Stevens calender. How come? Hmmm? Why was that?

In 2010 look out for: The Expendables, Pirahna 3D.

The only comics I got to read were whatever Lurch left lying about his flat. The Mark Millar / Steve McNiven Wolverine: Old Man Logan was fucking superb. I do love a good alternative future where you can do what you like. The Red Skull offing Captain America (thumbs in the eyes - nice) was particularly cool.

And....

....the cover of Heroes For Hire #13. It may well not have come out in 2009, but I sure as Hell had a good wank over it in 2009.

TV. Well, like everything else, I didn't watch an enormous amount of telly. I gave up on most of my regulars. The Apprentice (it finally sank in that they are all cocksuckers). The X Factor (it finally sank in that they are all cocksuckers) - well, the standard just wasn't as good this year (that's a joke...honestly..that's a joke). Britain Clearly Hasn't Got Talent....Have you seen those dancers that won? They're SHIT.

The Curb Your Enthusiasm Seinfeld reunion was just fucking genius. Although it did make me realize what a huge, gaping hole Seinfeld has left in TV, even after all this time.

And Stuart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. Somebody give him his own channel. Now.

There was 30 Rock and How I Met Your Mother and Inbetweeners. None of which have Charlie Sheen in. Thank God.

I didn't even watch much of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Even though Jimmy White was in it. Although the powers that be did decide to turn it into Jordan TV. Apparently she went on the show to 'get away from it all'. Hmm. Must be terrible for her, all that endless self-generated publicity. Mind you, you've got to love the public when they vote for the old whore to do seven trials in a row. Seven. 'I can't work out if this means they love me or hate me' she piped. IT MEANS THEY FUCKING HATE YOU YOU CRETIN.

Over the last year or so I've noticed how an awful lot of people repeatedly refer to Jordan as 'very clever' or that she possesses a 'good business mind'. She's not clever. She has clever agents and advisers. All she actually is is fucking greedy. Just like Jade 'Dead' Goody. Apparently Jordan's prolific literary output is not enough, and now she's inspired Colleen Rooney to write a book. 'I've had a really good idea for a book' Colleen recently announced. Well, that's gonna be fucking astonishing.

What Jordan ultimately needs is a good fisting. IN THE FACE.

As for the Wimbledon final, well that was just like a Greek fucking tragedy. After twatting Brit Git Andy Murray in the semis, Andy Roddick put up a titanic struggle against Federer then lost. That's five hours plus that I'll never get back and has basically left me scarred for life.

I have to say I didn't discover an awful lot of music, in fact all I really listened to was Ice Bird Spiral, Mud and The Saturdays. I tried very very hard to like The Saturdays and failed.

Even with the lubricious Frankie Sandford in their line-up The Saturdays are actually quite shit. They did, however, once come and turn on the Barnstaple Christmas lights. This is something both Mud and Ice Bird Spiral have totally failed to do.

So, with a brand New Year in mind and everybody's best interests at heart, here's my wish for the new decade...that in 2010 the lubricious Frankie Sandford should join Ice Bird Spiral.

I may also try and find out what lubricious means.