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GLASGOW has a tough reputation. In 1982, the BBC documentary department went on safari in Glasgow, reporting on the city’s gangs.
The show focused on the Barrowfield is an area of east Glasgow in Camlachie, close to Celtic Park, home of Celtic Football Club.
The study on urban decay and life was split in four parts:
BLIGHT, WORK, THE SCHEME and THE BOND.
DARREN Gough was once a cricketer with Yorkshire and England.
Gough was both talented and likeable. The top English bowler of his generation retired from professional cricket. And Barnsley’s favourite Tory hit even greater heights.
WITH nearly 3 million films in their database, it’s quite a dubious accomplishment to be ranked in IMDb’s Bottom 100. That’s the bottom of a very deep barrel – the bottom 0.003% in fact. I’d love to explore all the members of this exclusive club; but, in the interest of time we’ll start with the 1960s.
The 2000s are the most represented decade with over 40 films in the Bottom 100. At the moment there are 12 from the Sixties: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964), The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961), The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!? (1964) and these 9 truly awful films (proceed at your own risk):
Monstrosity (1963) AKA The Atomic Brain
IMDb rating = 2.5
An elderly woman hires a mad scientist to transplant her brain into that of a nubile young au pair girl. Somehow this is done without surgery using only the mysteries of radiation. The only way this film could get any worse would be if it starred Adam Sandler.
“Mrs. March had not realized her future body had such a satisfactory shape. Perhaps not as spectacular as the English girl but in excellent taste. She couldn’t help being amused. The stupid girl was not only modeling Mrs. March’s future wardrobe but Mrs. March’s future body: so firm, so nicely round in places men like.”
As luck would have it, some of these films have fallen into public domain, and now you can watch the whole thing for free (the only price you’ll pay is your sanity).
Monster a-Go Go (1965)
IMDb rating = 2.5
The movie begins with the narration: “What you are about to see may not even be possible, within the narrow limits of human understanding.” Oh, how painfully true.
This is the only film in this entire list that defies description because there is literally no plot. It is one random scene after another, with main characters inexplicably leaving midway through the film never to return, and with a twist ending that even M. Night Shyamalan would be ashamed of.
The Starfighters (1964)
IMDb rating = 2.4
There’s a miserable little plot in here somewhere, but this film is basically just stock footage of aircraft lazily pieced together. In fact, there are several – I repeat, SEVERAL – scenes of airplanes refueling… in real time, without edit. It may not have earned the honor of being IMDb’s absolute worst, but it is likely the most boring film in the entire database. When a plane refueling is the highlight of your film, there’s a problem.
For wondrous refueling footage, watch the clip below, but beware of the mind-numbingly infectious “Doo Wah” background music.
Body in the Web (1960) AKA Horrors of Spider Island
IMDb rating = 2.3
“There’s absolutely no reason yet to fear the worst. Until now, we only know that the plane caught fire and we’ve lost radio contact.”
I appreciate his optimism, but that seems like bad news. Indeed, the plane crashes and a troupe of beautiful dancers are stranded on a deserted island. Their routine of skinny-dipping and devising new skimpy outfits is interrupted when a radioactive spider bites their manager and turns him into the dumbest looking monster ever. Recommended for the vision and hearing impaired only.
IMDb rating = 2.1
There’s a serious debate in the film community about whether Arch Hall, Jr. is the worst male lead in the history of cinema. In other words, of the approximately 3,000,000 films in IMDb, the esteemed Arch may officially be counted as the absolute worst. I think Crow from Mystery Science Theater 3000 said it best: “I’ve figured it out. He’s a cyst with teeth and hair.”
Girl in Gold Boots (1968)
IMDb rating = 2.1
A girl with a more than passing resemblance to Angelina Jolie goes from waitress to center-stage go-go dancer. Think Showgirls (1995), but with no gratuitous nudity to redeem it. To quote a reviewer on IMDb: ‘This movie is a big, steaming pile of continuity errors and bad acting.” Truer words were never said.
The Wild World of Batwoman (1966)
IMDb rating = 2.1
The IMDb synopsis pretty much covers it:
A busty Batwoman enlists her beauteous bevy of Batgirls (when they are not dancing the jerk) to help her regain a mad scientist’s invention (an atom bomb made out of a hearing aid) before a costumed ne’er-do-well, Rat Fink, can glom onto it for his own purposes.
Invasion of the Neptune Men (1961)
IMDb rating = 2.0
Again,IMDb explains it best:
A bunch of kids who look like rejects from the Japanese version of ‘Lord of the Flies’ run around while aliens (from Neptune, presumably) blow up stock footage, including a building with a giant mural of Adolf Hitler. After much technobabble and shots of radar displays, they are defeated by a wispy bachelor named Space Chief who has a wobbly flying car.
Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)
IMDb rating = 1.9
A family gets lost and winds up staying with this creepy midget, Torgo, and his caped master who worships the deity Manos. Like most people who’ve seen this film, I came by it via Mystery Science Theater 3000. The plot itself is terrible, but what makes this rock bottom is an almost preternaturally awful execution.
Seedy 1970s TV: Petula Clark And The Scorpio People, Starring Jimmy Savile And Diana Dors’ Swimming Pool
IT’S hard to explain how peculiar TV was in the 1970s. Better to show you kids what the olds had to watch.
On November 16, 1974, Petula Clarke starred in The Sound of Petula. . .The Tale of a Scorpio, Petula sang about people born under the Scorpio star sign.
THERE’S an old saying that goes: “if you’re going to take a shot at the king, make sure you don’t miss.”
Such words of wisdom also apply to the movie monsters of the 1980s.
Thirty years ago, in 1984, Wes Craven’s “bastard son of a hundred maniacs,” Freddy Krueger (Robert Englund) rose up to become the reigning king of the horror film with the theatrical release of A Nightmare on Elm Street. The Gloved One took New Line — “The House That Freddy Built” — straight to the top with him.
DIANA Dors is in the news. When the tittering had died down in court, Max Clifford told the jury in his sex crimes trial that he attended “sex parties” hosted by the actress Diana Dors. Mr Clifford denies 11 counts of indecent assault against seven women and girls.
Dors was one of the country’s biggest stars. Dors was billed as Britain’s Marilyn Monroe.
Her real name was Diana Fluck – but her mother said she should change it because there was always the chance that her name would be up in lights outside a cinema – and one of the letters might fall off.
And she had hosted sex parties at her Orchard Manor home in Sunningdale, Berkshire.
* It really is terrifying how gullible and naïve I was and still am,” she confessed to author Clive Hirschhorn in 1968. “I fell for hard-luck stories the way boys fall for girls. To make things worse I surrounded myself with gangsters, conmen and phoneys!”
She had a turbulent love life.
Rob Baker takes up the story.
She married her first husband, Dennis Hamilton, at 4.pm 3rd July 1951 at Caxton Hall registry office in Westminster. She was just nineteen and already a film star. Her parents, not over-enamoured with the proposed union, decided not to come, and Diana, who was still under the, then, legal age of 21, had to forge their signatures on the form that gave permission for their daughter to be married.
The Caxton Hall wedding between Diana Dors and Dennis Hamilton wasn’t the smoothest of affairs. Before the ceremony the couple had posed for pictures outside (Hamilton had tipped off the press) but eventually the registrar tapped Hamilton on the shoulder and asked for a quiet word. The official discretely told him that he had received an anonymous phone call with the information that the marriage application had been forged.
Hamilton, furious, grabbed the registrar by the throat and shouted: “You’ll marry us, all right, or I’ll knock your fu*king teeth down your throat.”
They had met just five weeks previously after Dennis had chatted Diana up when asking her for a light. She was instantly charmed. Although Diana already had a boyfriend, a man of dubious morals named Michael Caborn-Waterfield, Hamilton sent her flowers almost daily. Unfortunately, Michael went to prison for a fortnight after one too many shady business deals and Dennis pounced. He proposed to Diana at the end of June 1951 and they became Mr and Mrs Hamilton just four days later.
Dors was in the middle of working on a film called Godiva Rides Again [see photo above] so there was no honeymoon after the wedding, just a meal in Olivelli’s in Store Street. The guests all paid for their own meals.
“There would have been parties from my younger days when I was friends with Diana Dors because Diana had parties. hey were not orgies. Not everyone went there and took their clothes off.”
The sex parties became a feature of her life from her first marriage.
By the time of her wedding she had already been a contract girl for J Arthur Rank for five years and had made some fifteen films including a role in David Lean’s Oliver Twist.
She was certainly not untalented but had always struggled to find real noteworthy roles and a rather turbulent private life certainly didn’t help her cause. She had been renting a small flat off the Kings Road from 1949 for six guineas a week but was eventually thrown out after complaints from the neighbours for the endless parties, late nights and loud music. The nights must have been very late and the music very loud because she wrote in her first autobiography in 1960:
“I didn’t realise it but the cute flat was slap dab in the middle of one of the worst areas I could have established myself in, for Chelsea in those days, just after the war, was much wilder than it is today.”
In 1950, while seeing Caborn-Waterfield, she also had a traumatic illegal abortion, performed on a kitchen table in Battersea, for ten quid.
The ‘interesting’ private life didn’t disappear now that she was married to Hamilton. Not long after their wedding he introduced her to, what were basically, sex parties.
Just a few months after Diana and Dennis’s wedding, Bob Monkhouse, then a 24 year old up-and-coming script writer, was invited to one of their parties. The lights were very low when he got there with almost the only lumination coming from a 16mm projector showing hard core porn (stag films or blue movies as they were known then) and there was a faint smell of Amyl Nitrate in the air.
Monkhouse was quickly invited to bed by a very attractive and comely young dancer. It was a little too quickly and he soon realised that something wasn’t quite right. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw that there was a false mirror on the ceiling and the other party guests were watching behind it. Furious, he stormed out of the room, with the ‘dancer’ shouting, “I think he’s a homo”. He was met by Dors in the hallway who said:
“Some people absolutely adore putting on a show, they come back to my parties just to do that.”
The following year Monkhouse and Dors met again at a Sunday evening radio show and they had a brief affair. Diana lied that her husband was in New York to lower Monkhouse’s guard. Eventually Hamilton found out about the affair and threatened Monkhouse with a cut-throat razor screaming at his face:
“I’m going to slit your eyeballs!”
Monkhouse only escaped by kneeing Hamilton in the groin and running away, but he once wrote that he had spent the next six years continually looking over his shoulder. He only had to worry for six years because in 1959 Dennis Hamilton suddenly died. His death was initially blamed on a heart attack but the day after the funeral Dors found out that he had died of tertiary syphilis. It never came to light, despite many autobiographies, whether she had contracted the disease herself.
Her career floundered:
Diana Dors made one acclaimed film in the fifties called Yield To The Night – a movie that was loosely based on the Ruth Ellis story but it’s not entirely unfair to say that she starred in some of the worst films ever made. After an unsuccessful foray to Hollywood (a public affair with Rod Steiger and and an incident where Hamilton beat up a photographer unconscious didn’t help), her film career, despite the very early promise, never really took off.
Dors would later complain that while Marilyn Monroe was making How To Marry A Millionaire in Hollywood, she was up in Manchester making It’s A Grand Life with the alcoholic northern comedian Frank Randle. Diana Dors was always a household name but it was her television guest appearances and roles in saucy sex comedies such as The Adventures of a Taxi Driver and Swedish Wildcats, that eventually kept her in the public eye.
She became the diet guru on GMTV in 1983 – where apparently she would weigh herself with all her heavy gold jewellery so it would look like she lost weight the following week. She died of protracted cancer the following year in 1984.
Her son Jason Lake would recall:
“My Dad [Alan Lake] used to get drunk with Richard Harris and Oliver Reed. I’d come back from school and they’d all still be in the living room talking rubbish with the room smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. Lionel Bart had a cocaine habit, so he’d get trashed. I remember him coming out of the loo with cocaine all down his sleeve and Oliver Reed and Dad having sword fights on the lawn.”
* “There were no taboos in our house. I was only seven but I was free to wander in and out of my mum’s parties, no matter how hot they got. I would walk around in my pajamas chatting to John Lennon and Keith Moon. Mum would wander around serving cups of tea and trying to get people up into the bedrooms. She loved having friends round to watch the porn films made at the parties. They would sit around giggling as couples groped each other and made love on the bed. Most of them didn’t even know they had been filmed.”
Lake and Dors acted together.
At home, sex was a commodity:
“It was a more up-to-date version of the two-way mirror. Some of the girls were wise to it. Mum just said: ‘This is what happens’, and I thought it was completely normal.’ Diana got her kicks by watching others having sex and procuring young women for famous men.
* Dors… admitted in a series of newspaper interviews to hosting sex parties at her home in Berkshire attended by celebrities including Bob Monkhouse. Guests would be encouraged to have sex with aspiring young actresses and Dors’s son Jason Lake alleged that the bedrooms were rigged with 8mm movie cameras and that his mother would enjoy watching the films later.
Naturally, she knew The Krays.
We’ve nothing to add about Maxwell’s trial, other than that he maintains his innocence.
The man who made a fortune with selling kiss ‘n’ tells about the great and good to the newspapers may take some of the stories he knows to his grave.
Adam Curtis has a nice aside about how Dors was tabloid gold:
The News of the World was in trouble – it’s circulation was falling. Part of the problem was television, but also its tradition of titillating court reports – randy vicars caught with their trousers down – was feeling tired and out of date. So early in 1960 Sir William Emsley Carr, the alcoholic proprietor of the News of the World appointed a new editor called Stafford Somerfield.
On his first day as editor, Somerfield called his staff together and – as he described it – “pushed the boat out”.
“What the hell are we going to do about the circulation? It’s going down the drain. We want a series of articles that will make their hair curl.”
In a brilliant book about the British Press, the writer Roy Greenslade describes what Somerfield introduced – “two new forms of provocative content: kiss-and-tell memoirs and saucy investigations”
And right away he found the perfect combination of these in Diana Dors.
Somerfield persuaded her to tell the intimate secrets of her life in a series of articles for the News of the World. He had been fascinated by the Yeardye – Hamilton guns and sex drama and was convinced there was far more to be mined from her life. To get the story he paid Diana Dors £35,000 which was an extraordinary amount for that time.
But he got what he wanted. He sat Dors down with a journalist who recorded everything – and then, as Dors later plaintively complained, took “all the mucky bits” and wrote the story of a scandalous, violent and seedy life.
IT shouldn’t be a big deal when a familiar actor or actress is abruptly replaced on a TV show. Yet audiences are often unable to cope. I suppose it’s due to the fact that a subconscious connection is often developed between audience and actors. When, suddenly, an interloper appears in his or her place, all hell breaks loose.
The textbook example is Darrin from Bewitched: when Dick York was replaced by Dick Sargent audiences were left confused and disoriented. What happened to Samantha’s husband? Did she remarry, or did she magically transform his physical appearance? What in the name of all that is holy is going on?!?
The problem is compounded when the original character was particularly beloved. Audiences got used to the “New Darrin”, but sometimes the shoes are just too hard to fill. Here are a few examples of when replacements had a particularly tough time filling in. Television audiences are an unforgiving lot.
Jenilee Harrison (as Cyndi Snow) replaces Suzanne Somers (as Chrissy Snow)
Somers, in a mad grab for cash, demanded more money and the network execs dropped her like a bad habit. The very nature of the show demanded that there be a third roommate. Enter Jenilee Harrison, a Los Angeles Rams cheerleader with no acting experience. Not surprisingly, it was nothing short of an abject failure. The following season, Jenilee was let go, and Priscilla Barnes (as Terri Alden) took over for the final seasons (1981-1984). Priscilla succeeded where Jenilee could not primarily because she didn’t play a similarly imbecilic character, but had a good head on her shoulders. However, nothing ever captured the magic of Suzanne Somers – “jiggle TV” at its finest.
Linda Thorson (as Tara King) replaces Diana Rigg (as Emma Peel)
In season six of The Avengers, Linda Thorson replaced Diana Rigg (a replacement herself). It would prove to be the show’s last season. American audiences didn’t seem to care, and French audiences actually preferred the replacement; however, British viewers would have no part of the change. Linda was roundly thrashed by the press as being a poor substitute – all looks and no brains, a damsel in distress rather than a strong heroine.
Some of the criticism was well-founded – Linda was very inexperienced as an actress and she got the part because she was the girlfriend of then-producer John Bryce. However, I think it’s clear the criticism was pretty unfair. Linda did a respectable job, and the show was already slipping before her arrival. I’m not sure who could’ve replaced Rigg and saved it. The show failed because it became dependent on US audiences, and it was lined up against Laugh-In (a show which also killed Star Trek).
Finally, it should be noted that Season 6 was actually an IMPROVEMENT over the previous season. Few will argue that Rigg’s last season was lame – it was becoming a spoof like Batman. In the final season, things started to get back to being serious.
Cheryl Ladd (as Kris Munroe) replaces Farrah Fawcett (as Jill Munroe)
It’s hard to comprehend what a phenomenon Farrah had become after her single season on Charlie’s Angles. Her shoes were impossible to fill, and it’s a testament to the likeability of Cheryl Ladd that the show survived. Far from being mortally wounded, the show strolled along for four more seasons…. but it just wasn’t the same. Even though Farrah was only there for the first season, when you think of Charlie’s Angels, you think of the Farrah year.
Certainly, there were other shows which lost a star but kept on truckin’: Welcome Back, Kotter lost Vinnie Barbarino (John Travolta), Alice lost Flo (Polly Holliday), M*A*S*H lost Trapper John (Wayne Rogers) and Lt. Colonel Henry Blake (McLean Stephenson), etc. However, those were shows that lost actors and actresses. Charlie’s Angels was a show that lost an icon.
CHICO AND THE MAN
Gabriel Melgar (as Raul) replaces Freddie Prinze (as Chico Rodriguez)
I will go on record and say that Freddie Prinze is among the top five stand-up comedians of all time. You’re certainly free to disagree, but there was just something truly special about his presence on stage. None of the jaded, cynical, self-deprecating stuff we come to expect from today’s comics. His was pure optimism and energy… which makes his 1977 suicide all the more unfathomable.
One thing I think we can all agree on is that Chico & the Man should have ended with Prinze’s death. The very notion that they would try and keep the sitcom rolling blows the mind. Poor Gabriel Melgar, recruited to fill the void, simply never had a chance. It was an awful idea that ended with predictable results – abysmal ratings and cancellation.
THE DUKES OF HAZZARD
Byron Cherry and Christopher Mayer (as Coy and Vance) temporarily replace Tom Wopat and John Schneider (as Bo and Luke Duke)
Dukes of Hazzard audiences tuned in to the new 1982 season only to find their beloved Bo and Luke Duke replaced by obvious clones. Schneider and Wopat had refused to come to the set, demanding more money. In response, the network replaced them with two guys that looked suspiciously similar. Audiences didn’t fall for the ploy, and so Schneider and Wopat got the contracts they wanted and returned.
In the end, the series wasn’t significantly impacted by this bizarre interlude. However, when it was all over, viewers were left scratching their head, wondering what the hell just happened.
SURPRISINGLY, Damon Albarn used to be a smackhead. You’d never have guessed would you? More than that, he said that heroin “completely changed” him as a musician and he’s written about being on the brown in a new song on his ‘Everyday Robots’ LP.
“In those… lines I said everything about it that I wanted to. You know, ‘My ship across…’ it has some poetry to it. I’m happy I found that poetry. I can move forward not without all the nudge nudge, wink wink innuendo I’ve had in the background for years. It was a long time ago,” he said.
He’s now off the smack though, which is a relief.
WHAT the Mad Men of advertising’s Golden Age would have made of today social media experts can only be guessed at. And our guess is they’d have made them unemployed. Anyone with a spark of creativity louder than a gnat’s fart would nowadays be hailed as social media guru.
Today’s disaster is supplied by Ribena, the sugary drink.
The Tweet copy trills:
“There’s no better way to start the day than sitting down to watch #DayBreak with a cuppa for you and a glass of Ribena Plus for the kids!”
ANY clue who these guys are? They’re the band Supertramp. If you didn’t know, it’s either because you are way too young to appreciate this article or it’s due to the fact that almost all Seventies rock acts looked relatively similar – like a generic group of hairy drug addicts.
Plus, it became “a thing” for Seventies rockers to shun the spotlight. Whereas, for most of the 1960s it was just a given that your album cover would feature a photograph of the band, in the 1970s, something changed…
IN Ancient Rome, the poet Juvenal coined the term “bread and circuses” (panem et circenses), and to his credit, it is one that remains pertinent to this day, especially in our 21st century pop culture and entertainment.
Specifically, the idea of “bread and circuses” involves an artificial means by which the government or ruling class of a nation distracts or appeases “the common man.” In Rome, for example gladiatorial games in the Colosseum fit the bill, distracting and diverting people from significant issues such as poverty, war, and corruption.
IN 1989, the City of Calgary, Canada, promoted the place with a song. It featured the joyous lyrics:
There’a feeling in the air that you can’t get anywhere expect….
Makes no difference where I go, you’re the best hometown I know.
Other Canadian cities realised they needed a theme song.
AS things heat up in Ukraine and the ever-precarious Middle East continues its pattern of unrest, we feel a tinge of concern for our Western economies hanging by a thread and our natural resources plundered at an unsustainable rate. In such a state of affairs it is only natural that we, as a global community, band together and take a look at some truly awful toys. It’s the right thing to do.
“Luscious Limbs” is more than a little bit macabre. Sissy’s fiendish delight at gnawing on a human ear is particularly distressing.
WE get to see the face of God in Robert Crumb’s Book Of Genesis. But was the representation of the Creator accurate? In 1974, Crumb gave us another image of God, one based on Philip K. Dick’s memory.
Dick’s Divine vision was triggered by seeing a delivery girl,who was wearing a Jesus fish on a chain about her neck. Dick had taken LSD:
In that instant, as I stared at the gleaming fish sign and heard her words, I suddenly experienced what I later learned is called anamnesis—a Greek word meaning, literally, “loss of forgetfulness.” I remembered who I was and where I was. In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, it all came back to me. And not only could I remember it but I could see it. The girl was a secret Christian and so was I. We lived in fear of detection by the Romans. We had to communicate with cryptic signs. She had just told me all this, and it was true.
For a short time, as hard as this is to believe or explain, I saw fading into view the black, prisonlike contours of hateful Rome. But, of much more importance, I remembered Jesus, who had just recently been with us, and had gone temporarily away, and would very soon return. My emotion was one of joy. We were secretly preparing to welcome Him back. It would not be long. And the Romans did not know. They thought He was dead, forever dead. That was our great secret, our joyous knowledge. Despite all appearances, Christ was going to return, and our delight and anticipation were boundless.
Fred Phelps’ Dying Words: ‘I Do It With Boys’ And Other Magic Moments In The Westboro Baptist Church
Across the Church’s website and its “sisters sites” – GodHatesIslam.com, GodHatesTheMedia.com, GodHatesTheWorld.com, JewsKilledJesus.com, BeastObama.com and PriestsRapeBoys.com, tributes are flowing.
It can’t be too long before a couple meet on WestboroMingle.com and name their first son Fred Phelps. And, yes, the WBC dating Petri Dish exists:
On the WBC website, beneath the title “Your Dashed Hopes”, we are invited the lament the 84-year-old’s passing:
The world-wide media has been in a frenzy during the last few days, gleefully anticipating the death of Fred Waldron Phelps Sr. It has been an unprecedented, hypocritical, vitriolic explosion of words…
It’s like every journalist in the world simultaneously set aside what little journalistic integrity they have, so that they could wait breathlessly for a rumor to publish: in-fighting, succession plans, and power struggles, oh my! How shameful! You’re like a bunch of little girls on the playground waiting for some gossip!
And then as God shows Phelps the final message on the last placard, the WBC issues a statement:
“This is a very difficult time for us, so we ask that the public have a little decency and respect by allowing us to mourn a great man who served God and tried to protect America from the threat of fags and perverts (i.e. gays and U.S. soldiers).”
As Peter Kaufman puts it:
The Westboro Baptist Church has upped the definition of chutzpah, for all eternity.
It is, of course, the last desperate stunt of a dead man. Without Phelps, the Church is rudderless.
What we really want to see are not millions of people protesting the death of a traveling sideshow, but the great man’s death bed confession “I like doin’ it with guys” become his lasting epitaph.
Anyone offended by Phelps’ ravings is thinking too much. He was ridiculous. His purpose was to give us something to lampoon. As Brick Stone asked one of the church’s members:
“Have you ever wondered how good gay sex must be if people are willing to go to Hell for it?”
Lauren Drain, 27, a former member of the Westboro Baptist Church who wrote Banished: Surviving My Years in the Westboro Baptist Church, discussed with The Advocate why Fred hated gays so very much.
I never understood why, when [the media asked him], “Why are you so against the homosexuals? Did you have a homosexual experience? Do you have homosexual tendencies?” And he would get so mad, he would shut down. And he’d be like, “I can’t talk to this person anymore, they’re stupid.” His reaction to that was stronger than any other question you can ask him. So I always wondered that — why does he get so mad? If I’m not gay, I’ll just say I’m not gay. And I’m not going to freak out, like, “Why are you calling me gay?” I always thought that was super strange. … I don’t know what happened there, so [speculation] is all that I can leave it at. But something happened, and something made him change his mind about the military, and in turn have kind of a crusade against sexual immorality and homosexuals.
Many of us will miss Fred Phelps, the ludicrous lunk. He was just about the most recognisable Christian bigot out there.
So. Let’s not picket his funeral. Let’s not sell that story of the time with Fred(a) at Chariots Sauna and Plunge Pools. Let’s enjoy what the man gave us: laughs.
MADELEINE McCann: Anorak’s look the missing child in the news. In 2009, Cape Verdean national Euclides Monteiro, 40, died in a tractor accident. His name has been linked the missing child. There is no evidence in the media that he stole the child.
The Guardian notes:
A suspect in the Madeleine McCann case who may have sexually assaulted five British girls in the Algarve up to 10 years ago died in 2009…
We’re noted that the dead black immigrant cannot be easily questioned.
The source also said there had been another so far unpublicised incident in which another British girl on holiday with her parents was sexually abused, although he did not go into when this came to light nor where or when it took place.
Any more facts?
The revelations came the day after the Metropolitan police in Britain appealed for information on a total of 12 incidents in which an intruder entered holiday accommodation in three resort areas including one where Madeleine, then three, went missing in May 2007. Four of these cases, between 2004 and 2006, involved assaults on girls aged seven to 10 and one involved two children, according to Scotland Yard, although police in both countries have looked at incidents up to 2010, three years after Madeleine vanished.
The Guardian’s source was careful to say the police had come to “no definitive conclusions” about Euclides Monteiro
IN 1936, German toy maker Günther & Co. released the board game “Juden Raus! Das Neue Gesellschafts-Spiel” (“Out with the Jews! The Game of the New Society”).
ONE thing you’ll find when looking through magazines from the 1930s and 40s is an amazing array of soap and constipation adverts. It’s as if the world was ravaged by body odor and irregularity. Ad after ad proclaims the wonders of this fantastical object called “soap” – lives are changed by its tremendous power to rid even the smelliest among us of their funk. But that was only half the battle, because mankind still cowered helplessly beneath the specter of constipation. Countless adverts announce their special cure for this dread disease.
THE MIRACLE OF SOAP
This bride literally would have died a miserable old maid had it not been for Lifebuoy soap. Evidently, her fiancé was so disgusted by her rank smell he was about to call off the wedding – until her friend introduced her to the World of Soap. A close call – but it does make one wonder what other basic hygiene tools our young bride has yet to discover.
“Sure he picked a beautiful bride…. but oh, that ‘B.O.’!”
This advert is from ten years later (1947) – The War is over, Western Nation economies are on the rise, and all is right with the world… but the women still smell horrible. Let’s take this ad step by step: Here we have a newly married couple who are attending a party. Unfortunately, the young bride is shaming her husband by her amazing level of body odor.
“Oh, darling, I’ve failed you!”
Yes, honey, you may as well purchase a one-way bus ticket out of town. Ted will explain that you “had an accident”. Indeed, with the neighbors whispering about your incredible funk, your job as wife is an abject failure….. but wait, what’s this? It seems Ted just happens to have in his possession a bar of soap.
And, of course, the miracle of soap once again saves a marriage, and possibly a life…. but not before we get to see Ted’s wife naked.
“You know how men are, Gail! They like to be proud of their sweethearts and wives! Besides, you must admit there’s not much allure in dry, lifeless, old-looking skin!”
As usual, soap is sold to guard against shaming the godlike husbands. In this case, the woman’s repugnant smell isn’t the issue, it’s her disgusting skin. Back then, that was grounds for a husband to literally put his wife out to pasture.
Yet another woman spared eternal shame because she hasn’t been exposed to the wonders of soap. You’ll note it has an endorsement from film noir dame “Joan Bennett, Walter Wanger Star”. Wanger was a film producer and Bennett’s third husband. He ended up causing quite a scandal when he shot Bennett’s agent (he suspected they were having an affair). Bennett went on to star in Dark Shadows and Suspiria (1977). But I digress…
THE SCOURGE OF CONSTIPATION
“Actual cases on record of constipation relieved” – and all it requires is for you to garrote yourself in the most foolish way possible. Personally, I’d choose bran flakes cereal over this spectacle of degradation… but that’s just me.
I know constipation is a bummer – God knows it can put a damper on a day. That being said, if your constipation is causing the sort of misery where life isn’t worth living, you’ve got a very special constipation indeed. I don’t know what HOOD-LAX is, but it sounds potent. Might I suggest some late night Mexican food and a frothy pint of HOOD-LAX and make life worth living!
From devastated to cheerfully building a wall within two hours – that’s pretty damn impressive. I understand it’s not exactly fun to wake up constipated, but she seems clinically depressed – “the world’s all wrong” she exclaims. I wonder if that Sal Hepatica not only helps loosen the stool, but also has a little “happy sauce” in the ingredients as well. Either that or this chick is bi-polar.
Are you noticing a pattern here with the constipation symptoms? It’s not annoyance at abdominal pain, it’s depression. Clearly, there was something else going on here in women that was erroneously being blamed on constipation. Any armchair sociologists out there who’d like to posit a theory? I’d love to hear it.
HERE’S a challenge for the intrepid researcher: Go to Google and search for five or so reviews of the Veronica Mars (2014) movie from the mainstream press that don’t include the following term: “fan service.”
For the uninitiated in such things, fan service is a descriptor widely understood to mean the act of “giving the fans exactly what they want,” and for some reason, it is being applied to Veronica Mars on a remarkably consistent, nay universal basis.
UNEXPECTEDLY to most, the Human League’s ‘Don’t You Want Me?’ went top ten midweek. No-one really knew why, especially die-in-the-wool Human League fans. Everyone was pleased all the same.
However, what had happened was Aberdeen FC fans (with excellent taste it has to be said) had been buying the song in droves after they rejigged the famous chorus into “Peter Pawlett baby!”
So with that, let us look at Aberdeen fans being brilliant and some of the other magnificent football fan reworkings of famous pop songs. Some of them might even be better than the originals!
MICHAEL McIntyre has millions of fans. I’m just not friends with or related to any of them. I don’t think I’ve ever met one. Michael McIntyre is the Tony Blair of standup – charismatic enough to get millions of people to back him but embarrassing enough that they’ll all deny it. I don’t dislike McIntyre because he’s mainstream. There are loads of comics who walked the middle of the road who were wonderful. There’s nothing wrong with acts that can play to massive BBC One audiences. Look at Billy Connolly or Jasper Carrot in their prime, Dave Allen at his most palatable or even Bob Monkhouse, for all his joke lifting tendencies.
IT’S actually amazing when you stop and think about it. A counter-culture movement originating in homosexual night clubs somehow wound up overtaking every nook and cranny of the pop culture landscape. From Hollywood to the fashion industry to ridiculous albums like the one pictured above – nothing was safe from the marauding cash cow called Disco.
So, why did it die a horrible death in the early 1980s?
There were plenty factors at work, such as a very real homophobic backlash. But that is an issue best reserved for a more serious discussion. Instead, let’s focus on 7 other primary suspects all wanted for “discocide”.
Pat Robertson’s Fever Dream: Four Times When Horror Movies Met The Devil’s Own Rock-and-Roll Music In The 1980s
JUST last week, the 700 Club’s Pat Robertson spoke out about the hidden scourge of our modern society: those demons from Hell who like to crash your car.
Yes, it turns out that devils can cause really horrible road accidents because — by merely watching horror movies — you have “granted them permission” to do so.
You know who you are…