Tuesday, 25 November 2008

His brain in Scarlett Johanssen's body

Charlie Brooker. Charlie. Brooker.

It's symbolic of my change in fortunes over these last twelve months that in my previous position I was able to regale my amused staff with passages from "Dawn of the Dumb" during shief briefings, even composing amusing pages with amusing allusions to the mentally-sedentary daywalkers amusingly stumbling among us, whereas now...

Now I have to put up with a couple of kids with A-Levels in "Media Studies" tell me that Dead Set will be rubbish (and it was unfortunately not as genius as I'd hoped it would've ought've been). I actually felt as though I had lost face by insisting on Charlie Brooker's genius. Have I betrayed him? Did I hear a cock crow thrice? Or a crow cock perhaps? I don't know birds.

But he's back on BBC Four with more stuff. Why not take a look at this knockabout laffarama?


Nathan Barley was the business though, the business turned inside out so you read the future in the outie entrails dangling from its twisted ribs. It was a dark future. So dark and shiny I could see my drooling face in it. I rise about eleven o'clock. By then the idiots have already got up and had their first coffee of the day. I am an after-idiot.

Eat this, ya mencaps - www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4mpJumHU-w

Yeah, I know you know. But my brain asphixiates itself with the giddying excitement of all this, dig?

Your pal, Coc x

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