Wiley: One letter of difference = Infinitely more talented.

Brace yourselves blog fans, for I have shocking, and frankly disgusting, news.

One of the music world's most celebrated talents, a performer who has been like a pillar of strength, bearing the weight of the musical dreams of generations of aspiring guitar-owning hippies and thrash metal enthusiasts alike, who stood up for the little man when the suits at the National Academy for Recording Arts and Sciences started giving Grammys to people like Lil' Wayne and Bono, has tarnished their previously impeccable reputation in a singular moment of miscalculation.

This shouldn't happen.

Ok scratch that. It was Miley Cyrus, and she's been a vapid, plastic, money-sucking whore ever since she was birthed in the testicles of her musically defective father Billy Ray.

But enough with the pleasantries.

It recently came to my attention that Miss Cyrus ostracised many of her young fans (read: brainwashed zombie pre-teens), the media and various special interest groups in the latest in a string of offences that seem to indicate that, despite it being in her best interest, she clearly doesnt want her budding career to last longer than the typical pop starlet's (i.e. about as long as it takes them to discover the sweet bliss of crack cocaine).

"But Chris!" you cry at your computer screen. "Surely youre not that stretched for ideas that youre speaking of events that transpired weeks and even months ago?! EVERYONE has already blogged about the infamous Vanity Fair child-porn photo shoot, and the internet has been ablaze for weeks with talk of Miley offending oh ONLY AROUND ONE THIRD OF THE WORLD'S POPULATION with her "Asian face"."

"So then I was all like "I NO SPEAKA DA ENGRISH""

"No, internet" I reply as I sit firmly astride my high horse. I speak of a more recent incident, in which Miley outraged her diehard fans by forgetting the lyrics to her latest song "Fly on the Wall" at a concert in the UK. A concert that her record company paid $320 000 to fly her too.

Now I understand that this sometimes happens. And I understand that Miley must have a hard time keeping her thoughts and memory in check, what with spending half of her waking life thinking she is actually Hannah Monatana: Superslut. But I mean come on, take a look at this sample of the lyrics in question:

You'd love to know the things I do
When I'm with my friends and not with you
You always second guess, wonderin'
If there's other guys I'm flirtin' with
You should know by now

Its not exactly a Shakespearean sonnet. Then theres this:

Don't ya, don't ya
Don't ya, don't ya
Wish you were a?
Hey

Nonexistent sentence structure and the fact that its completely nonsensical aside, its pretty profound stuff.

Such a slip of the mind could normally be forgiven, but for $320 000? I leave you with a small list of things that the $320 000 jet fee could have been better spent on:

- 320 000 pies from local vendor Darby's*
- The ransom for a German immigrant kidnapped in Israel
- A 1 Bed/1 Bath condo in Seattle
- A Rolls Royce Phantom
- A Hong Kong licence plate, number 2318

This guy HATES Miley Cyrus.

All of those things would benefit the world (though to be fair, the majority of the benefits would be reaped by me alone) more than a 16 year old with split personalities robbing innocent people of their hard earned money to see her dance around on a stage entirely too provocatively for someone that ugly, leaching off of her father's undeserved and short-lived fame.

That reminds me, one more use for the money:

- A hitman to have Cyrus taken the fuck out, to soothe the eardrums of the world. And her father too while theyre at it. Why?

Because fuck Achey Breaky Heart, thats why.

- Chris

*Disclaimer: All of these things actually cost $320 000, Im just too lazy to link proof.

A conspiracy theory to rock your nether-regions.

There are a lot of things Grandma's are good for; knitting shit, baking shit, mending shit, and generally talking to you about all of the above. The last time i sat down with my Grandma over a dainty cup of Lady Grey however, I didn't expect that she would wow me with a conspiracy theory regarding the gender of one of the nation's most beloved celebrities. Out of the blue she started telling me about her very reliable source so and so who ASSURES her that Nicole Kidman was born a Hermaphrodite. I was intrigued, took another biscuit, and listened closely.

Dear ole Grandma it turns out, has the sweet connections, and knows a lady who was once a midwife, who claims to have been present at the birth of Nicole, who we shall now refer to by her gender non-specific name, 'Nick'. According to this lady, whose identity i will protect for fear of a resounding scandal.. 'Midwife McGee' if you will, Nick was born an 'it'. A she-male. A veritable earthworm of A-sexual astoundment.

As i dipped my sweet biscuit into my milky cup of love, i pondered on the credibility of such an accusation. Sure, Nick may be hailed by some as the embodiment of feminine grace and beauty, but hell, would you tap that? Didn't think so.

Let's break it down.

If Nicole is in fact Nick-with-a-dick, there would surely be some indications of this gender confusion, some clues as to the messed-up nature of mother nature's mess. Wait, woah, hold-up there, now that i think about it, there are some pretty ambiguous aspects of Nick's physical form.

Check it out:


There is only so much that make-up can hide, even when you are wearing enough to be able to have someone's initials carved into your face... To me, that jaw-line spells 'awkward amounts of testosterone for a lady', and we all know how flat-chested poor Nick used to be before her reputed enhancements. Let's not forget about her rake-like physique, enormous tootsies and general aura of androgyny.

Also, this theory would explain why her acting is so terrible...most of the time she is on set, she is probably pre-occupied by thoughts of 'holy shit am I a man or a woman?', or similar.

The most resounding evidence however to support the notion that Nick is indeed a confused lady-boy, is her choice of life-partners (we will call them that to keep this PC). Any sane woman, fueled by a healthy dose of Oestrogen would never be attracted to 'men' in the vein of Tom Cruise and Keith Urban. It is clearly biological, the 'a' enzyme does not lock in with the 'b' enzyme; they emit sour, off-putting pheremones; there is a weak, wussy, girlishness about these guys that screams 'DO NOT PROCREATE WITH ME!'. Yet Nick in her confused state, managed to single out not merely one, but two of these hideous phenomenons, IN A ROW. Tom then Keith. A horrible union of scrambled genitals on both accounts.

Need a visual?


(No photoshop needed)....

Compelling evidence, irrefutable arguments, SCIENTIFIC PROOF.

And to put the icing on this gender neutral cake, Nick's last name is a secret clue to her alternate existence... kidMAN. She was a MAN when she was a KID. Or perhaps, 'we KID you not, she is actually a MAN'. Either way, it must have been some kind of secret codename given to her by the Australian secret services at her time of birth, so only those savvy to the language would recognise her true identity. Now you are one of those people...decide what you will.

Great story Grandma!

- Katey

An homage to Sir Willis

In life, we sometimes find ourselves floundering in places and situations seemingly out of our control; a crowded airport, a bustling subway, a towering inferno of death and destruction. It is common at these times for one to fall in a pathetic snivelling heap of despair and desperation, calling upon some higher power to relieve the pain, the suffering.

The truth is, the world has gone soft. We have become a sticky conglomerate of all things weak and spineless. World Peace? LAME. Abolition of Captial Punishment? LAME. Man up world, take a lesson from a god amongst men, a badass enforcer of all things hard and gritty. Throw away your rose-coloured dieties, it's time to set your feeble value systems alight. So the next time you find yourself holed up in a schoolyard hostage situation, don't look to God, instead ask WHAT WOULD BRUCE WILLIS DO? Because we all know that whatever he did, it would be explosive, it would show scant regard for collateral damage, and it would be finished with an epic one-liner to make that baddy die just a little bit harder.

For inspiration, i have included a random sample of Mr Willis' many filmic triumphs. Please take note of the precise way in which Bruce fashions scorn lines around the mouth, and intense furrows of concentration above the eyes. These are two vital ingredients in the spicy laksa that is the Willis personality.





If you are feeling a little dejected by the prospect of a life filled with penetrating stares and pungent masculinity, don't despair, as Bruce shows us that it's ok to sometimes goof around, and crack that weathered face into a steely smile.

Feeling tougher already? You should be, because the next time you go down the street to buy a pistachio gelato you may well walk straight into the middle of a siege, a terrorist plot, or a heist of some sinister description.

I often find it worthwhile to meditate, but not the pussy kind that is all baggy pants and dolphins and gongs. Take time to find your inner John McClane, channel the spirit of violence that has become hidden beneath a flimsy veneer of unity. Promote the betterment of your mind by only thinking of naked women, cigars, and the nearest points of exit and entry in whatever establishment you may find yourself in, in the event of an invasion.

I will leave you now, not with any profound snippets of my own, but with some B.W quotes for your own personal contemplation.

- Katey

*Let me ask you something Carmine. What sets off the metal detector first? The lead in your ass, or the shit in your brain?
*Look, lady I only speak two languages: English and Bad English!
*[As he pushes a chair loaded with plastic explosives into the elevator shaft] Geronimo, motherfucker!
*That's gonna wake the neighbours.

An open letter to Joaquin Phoenix

Dear Mr. Phoenix,

I dont usually watch Letterman (in fact I pretty much despise the man and his performances) but when I saw your name on the bill, I decided to give it a chance, thinking you might actually provide a decent interview.

Oh how right I was, but for all the wrong reasons.

What followed was 10 minutes of hilarity, that Im sure in your drug-addled state, you have no recollection of:



Now Joaquin (I think if Ive made the effort to learn how to spell your name properly, Ive earned the right to address you thusly), I enjoyed your roles in Gladiator and more recently We Own The Night very much, and I think youre quite the actor. Therefore I was much taken aback by your performance on the show.

Now you may be thinking that I, like many news outlets, am referring to your disheveled appearance, mumbling speech, and blatant disregard for interview etiquette and commitment to the film that you were supposed to be promoting.

You would be wrong in assuming that. I for one applaud you for sticking it to Letterman and his elitist jackass antics, and his obvious disdain for you as his guest.

No, my issue is with your latest career choice.

Joaquin, youre an actor. A successful Hollywood actor with (I assume) more than enough money, power and respect to either continue doing what youre doing (i.e. acting) or simply retire and live out the rest of your days smoking money, wearing money suits and sleeping atop a pile of money with beautiful women paid for with more of your money.

Or theoretically, you could choose to make a career changing decision that will likely cripple you not only financially, but in terms of your reputation, losing you the adoration and respect of millions of fans across the world.

You sir have chosen the latter.

I understand you were raised from birth by insane cultists who raped you repeatedly, and by no means do I pretend to understand the immense emotional trauma you likely go through every day of your waking life...

But hip hop Joaquin? Really?

Dont get me wrong, I support exploring your interests, and your singing in Walk The Line was surprisingly good but some things just aren't meant to be. Let me put it this way: the audience sure weren't laughing at Letterman's "wit" or physical comedy after your revelation. No Joaquin, they were laughing at you.

Now picture yourself at your opening night, the benefit for the release of your hip hop album (tentatively titled Joaquin: the Fire of the Phoenix). You step up to the mic, the beat drops and you kick a rhyme or two, or three. The next sound you hear will be that same laughter, that uncaring, scathing laughter, multiplied tenfold and directed right at you, a man who once portrayed one of the greatest Roman Emperors ever committed to film (he was also said to be a rampant homosexual but that isnt necessarily an indication of your character).

I beg of you, for the good of Hollywood, your siblings Rain, Summer and River (RIP) and Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five, please reconsider, and let MC Phoenix forever remain a figment of your imagination.

Thankyou for your time and Joaquina Matata.

Chris.

P.s. Once again, I know you were raised in a cult but really, if youre going to tell people your name is "Wakeen" and not literally Joaquin, then you could at least spell it that way. It would save your fans a lot of trouble when they try and google your name 10 times before getting it right.