New Year, New Decade, New Jacko?
Posted by Jacko | Filed under ManChat
Hey guys. Haven’t been on here for a while as I’ve been away visiting family over Christmas, and since then I’ve been putting the final touches to the second volume of The Great Right Hope series, A Fistful of Rubbers, which is now with Zetta Brown, the editor for LL-Publications. Finally, it’s done with, and now I have time for some more blogging and let me start by saying Happy New Year.
Yes, folks, a new year and a new year decade. In April, I will say goodbye to my twenties, too, and say hello to my…erm…thirties, yes, that’s the one.
Shit.
I don’t want to really talk about that. Nope, I don’t want to talk about the future, it only brings old age, boredom, kids playing on your lawn and a life-changing increases in the price of ham, and possibly global warming and shit.
So, let’s look backwards, and let’s take a look at the decade we said goodbye to, the noughties. What happened in the noughties? We (England) lost at a lot of sporting events; terrorism reached sickening heights; Usain Bolt ran really, really fast; and the first ever film about bumming cowboys was released. I ain’t really much cop at history, and I can’t be bothered with researching owt, either, as that isn’t my style. To be honest, I can’t be arsed to talk about the past, as that’s in the past, and the future is the only thing that matters, right?
What I will say, is that on a particular supernatural day in the noughties I experienced, for the first and only time, what can only be classed as divination. Unfortunately, my foretelling wasn’t the kind that would ever bag me a lot of money, or any, for that matter. It would not put me in a position where I could make a difference to the world. My vision came to me when two girls danced and sang (technically questionable) their way on to my television screen. Those Transylvanian girls were cheeky little things, indeed, and they were indeed, The Cheeky Girls.
The cheeky girls hit our screens in 2002 when they auditioned for Popstars The Rivals, and from that came the song, The Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum), and even though in 2004, it was voted the worst pop record of all time in a Channel 4, it still got to number two in the UK charts. Number, f***ing two, can you believe that? This country. This f**ing country. To summarise, they’re mum writes their songs; in 2006 they filed for bankruptcy; and in 2007 they had tit jobs.
I was convinced my 2002 prediction would come true, and everything was building up to its ultimate fulfilment. Even up to the end of December 2009, I was convinced that I couldn’t be wrong. I told the world, my friends and loved ones, as a 22 year-old kid, that it was a guaranteed dead cert that one of the cheeky girls would become a porn star by the end of the decade.
And they didn’t!
So the title of this post was “A New Year, A New Decade, A New Jacko?” So is there going to be a new Jacko? Well, probably not; not unless I win the lottery, or someone gives me a multi-million quid book deal, but one thing I will say, is that I predict, that by the end of this decade, by midnight, December 31st 2019, one of the Cheeky Girls will be in porno, somewhere on the internet.
Mark my words.
Tags: A Fistful of Rubbers, divination, England, getting old, global warming and shit, Happy New Year, LL-Publications, mark jackman, Nostradamus, Popstars, porn, sport, The Cheeky Girls, The Great Right Hope, the price of ham, The Rivals, thirties, twenties, UK Charts, Usain Bolt, Zetta Brown
If I Were A Rich Man
Posted by Jacko | Filed under ManChat
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
What a song, ey?
Fiddler on the roof, “If I Were A Rich Man.” If I were a rich man, I’d be singing “Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum”, pretty much 24/7.
What I would not be singing is:
I’d fill my yard with chicks and turkeys and geese and ducks
For the town to see and hear.
(Insert)Squawking just as noisily as they can. (End Insert)
With each loud “cheep” “swaqwk” “honk” “quack”
Would land like a trumpet on the ear,
As if to say “Here lives a wealthy man.”
What?
The last thing I would be doing after winning the lottery is buying poultry. What a shit, shit verse. I don’t care if it is sung by a poor milkman in early 20th century Russia, there must have been something better he could have wished for such as a prostitute made out of solid gold, or even a prostitute holding a big bag of gold, or even a prostitute who knew where some gold was, or even a prostitute who wasn’t ridded with STIs, or even a prostitute who was riddled with STIs (Jacko says: “Rubber Up”).
But no. He wished for a loud bloody duck whilst singing “Here lives a wealthy man.” You’re not wealthy, you’re an idiot. What would his neighbours have thought? “Why didn’t he spend the money on prostitutes made of solid gold?”
I didn’t mean to get into that. What I want to talk about is how great it would be if I was rich. This came up, because I was browsing through the shopping website, Play looking at some film memorabilia saw this little piece.
Giger’s Alien.
I love Alien and Aliens, and I even like Alien 3 (won’t mention the fourth one). I’d love to have Giger’s Alien on my desk, but I couldn’t do that with the one above as it is life-sized! 7′8” it is, and a wallet busting £5799.99 to boot! Check it out: Alien I can’t see why anyone would buy this unless they were either really rich or really stupid. There’s a customer review which states “Would look good in any horror fans collection of memorabilia.” I should bloody hope so. For six grand I’d expect it to hunt down and destroy my enemies (of which there are many) and then seek out prostitutes made of solid gold and rid them of their STIs. If you weren’t minted you really would have to be stupid to buy it. I was hoping for a review which said. “After losing all my money in the Farepack Christmas Hamper Scheme, I decided to push the boat out this Christmas and invest in the “Lifesize Scale Alien Xenomorph Statue” to impress the kids. I am now selling my “Lifesize Scale Alien Xenomorph Statue” as my three loan sharks have the audacity to charge interest on the monies owed to them. Still, this would look good in any horror fans collection of memorabilia.”
Where was I? This blog is a bit like Ronnie Corbett’s stories when he sits on the chair, tells a long winded tale and then hits you with a terrible punchline and you yearn for Ronnie Barker to come back on.
“Sorry” was shit .
There’s no Ronnie Barker here, folks. Sorry, just more of me rambling about prostitutes made of gold.
I haven’t blogged in ages, actually, as I have been busy writing the sequel to The Great Right Hope. I’ve now finished the first draft of the second book of The Sid Tillsley Chronicles, ”A Fistful of Rubbers,” and that’s why my imagination is running riot. Back to reality. Being rich. Wouldn’t it be great. I was chatting to a friend today about what I’d do if I was truly rich. I mean rich, not all that “oh, I’m rich because of my loved ones,” bollocks. No, I mean prostitutes made of solid gold, rich.
If I were rich…
I’d hire Face (aka Dirk Benedict) from the A-Team to sit in my front room, and then when I had friends over, I’d pay a dude dressed as Cylon to walk through my front room so that Face could recreate his famous point at the start of the A-Team intro. I love that shit.
I’d buy Manchester United, sack Alex Ferguson and then put my old man in charge and watch the club implode. I remember being a young goal keeper and being told. “Don’t close the angle. it’s easier to dive forwards, than backwards, so stay on the back post and then the striker can only kick it in one place.” My football career didn’t last long. He doesn’t believe in any defensive walls for free kicks. Being Norfolk born and bred, I can’t imagine Evra would get a game, either.
I’d pay a man to watch all forty-two episodes of Sorry, back-to-back, non-stop, for a year just to see what happened to him.
I’d pay a scientist (a real one) to invent and breed Ewoks, and then I’d test cosmetics on them as a punishment for ruining “Return of the Jedi.”
I’d shut every plastic and chrome bar in the country and reinvest in Great British pubs.
I’d remake Highlander 2.
I’d organise a Battle Royale, the likes of which, the world has never seen. I’d offer a billion pounds and a penis enlargement to the winner of this fight to the death, man versus man, epic bout of brutality, extravaganza. I’d send invites to Hulk Hogan, Crocodile Dundee, Steven Segal, Chuck Norris, Grant from Eastenders, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Mike Tyson, Dolph Lundgren, Carl Weathers and Gary Busey. And then, I’d send armed guards to collect Andy Murray, Jeremy Kyle and the prick down my gym who doesn’t put the weights back and then I’d let battle commence. I’d pay that bloke who shouts”LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEE” to come along and shout “LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEE” There isn’t a red-blooded man alive who wouldn’t want to watch that.
I’d remake “Fiddler on the Roof,” and make it real freaky with… you know!
That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m not a very materialistic person and for me to live the life of my dreams, I’d need billions and billions. Who cares about owning a Ferrari, when you can fuck up an Ewok, real bad. And, in conclusion, isn’t that what being rich is all about?
So, if you were infinitely rich, what would you do?
Tags: A fiddler on the roof, A Fistful of Rubbers, a-team, alien, alien 3, aliens, Battle Royale, billionaire, Carl Weathers, cosmetics, cylon, dirk benedict, ewoks, face, Farepack, Gary Busey, giger, Hulk Hogan, If I were a rich man, loaded, mark jackman, play, prostitutes, Return of the Jedi, rich, Ronnie Barker, Ronnie Corbett, solid gold prostitutes, Sorry, spacedocking, starbuck, Steven Segal, The Great Right Hope, The Sid Tillsley Chronicles, Van-damme
