Hollywood icon Harrison Ford, 65, the star of the series of Indiana Jones box office blockbusters, could find himself at the centre of a storm of controversy. That’s if rumours are true of a proposed sequel in the Speilberg series called, ‘Raiders of Diana’s Tomb.’ The planned movie, with Harrison again playing the lead, is said to involve the heroic archaeologist in grotesque post-mortem sex scenes with the supposed corpse of Princess Diana. If the shocking scenes are screened if the film is released next year, there is likely to be widespread public outrage—just as the death of the wealthy icon triggered hysterical reactions.
Some sources close to the ageing actor have expressed their concern for the star’s safety upon hearing of the alleged necrophilia scenes to be staged.
‘Harrison must be mad!’ exclaimed Bernie Bernstein, associate producer for MGM, and the lifelong friend of Ford’s agent’s deceased wife’s brother. ‘They’ll kill him if he does this.’ Adds Bernstein, the man who claims he put ‘the bazoomas into the Bond movies.’
Both Messrs. Ford and Speilberg were unavailable to comment when approached with the ill-founded rumours detailed above.
Bernie Bernstein’s memoirs, ‘The Way I See It: Memoirs of a Movie Mogul, Vol. I’ are due for publication next week.
Free association styled prose from Julian Cloran, visual artist, writer, poet and agent provocateur. Random musings, which are sometimes cynical, but always intended for amusement, stimulation and entertainment. Comments are welcomed so don't be shy. Simply click on 'comments' to post yours.
Friday 25 July 2008
Friday 18 July 2008
SEPARATE OLYMPICS EXCLUSIVELY FOR DRUG ABUSING ATHLETES, WHY NOT?
Arthur Bloke, former fruit and vegetable stallholder (Covent Garden), incites controversy as he plays devil’s advocate—here—with his first foray into journalism.
So, disgraced athlete Dwayne Chambers—who tested positive for illicit performance enhancing drugs—is hoping to be allowed to go to Beijing. Whether the (formerly) steroid-taking sprinter is permitted to compete in the next Olympics or not is not the subject for conjecture here. Frankly, I don’t care.
What interests me, on a purely dispassionate basis and partly as a result of the remarkable performance by Chambers as a drug-fuelled runner, is just how much human sporting potential could be achieved, in all fields, if drug taking was permissible. How much punishment could a heavyweight boxer soak up, never mind dish out, if they were souped up and numbed to pain on PCP (Angel dust) or cocaine? Could the world’s fastest man match the speed of athletes accelerated by amphetamines coursing through their bloodstreams? Of course, I recognise the injustice of clean-living, honest athletes unwittingly competing against less than sporting, sportsmen and women who deceitfully and furtively partake of illicit substances to create for them an unfair advantage. So, why not have a separate event for these latter sporting figures?
Just out of scientific curiosity, I’d like to see an Olympics exclusively for drug users and compare results with the ‘clean’ Olympics. The Paralympics afford disabled people to compete in a professional atmosphere without disadvantage. Why, then, not have an event tailored to the current taboo group? Few can disagree, surely, that the results would be extremely interesting. The current day UK is a society saturated in a fanatical devotion to a politically correct ethos riddled with double standards, reinforcing arguments supporting my appeal for alternative Olympics. For example, why are there no ‘Psychotic Olympics’ for the severely mentally ill? It can hardly be more dangerous than blind hammer and discus throwers, which reminds me I must go and look for my mail—my postman is blind!
Ta-ta!
Arthur.
So, disgraced athlete Dwayne Chambers—who tested positive for illicit performance enhancing drugs—is hoping to be allowed to go to Beijing. Whether the (formerly) steroid-taking sprinter is permitted to compete in the next Olympics or not is not the subject for conjecture here. Frankly, I don’t care.
What interests me, on a purely dispassionate basis and partly as a result of the remarkable performance by Chambers as a drug-fuelled runner, is just how much human sporting potential could be achieved, in all fields, if drug taking was permissible. How much punishment could a heavyweight boxer soak up, never mind dish out, if they were souped up and numbed to pain on PCP (Angel dust) or cocaine? Could the world’s fastest man match the speed of athletes accelerated by amphetamines coursing through their bloodstreams? Of course, I recognise the injustice of clean-living, honest athletes unwittingly competing against less than sporting, sportsmen and women who deceitfully and furtively partake of illicit substances to create for them an unfair advantage. So, why not have a separate event for these latter sporting figures?
Just out of scientific curiosity, I’d like to see an Olympics exclusively for drug users and compare results with the ‘clean’ Olympics. The Paralympics afford disabled people to compete in a professional atmosphere without disadvantage. Why, then, not have an event tailored to the current taboo group? Few can disagree, surely, that the results would be extremely interesting. The current day UK is a society saturated in a fanatical devotion to a politically correct ethos riddled with double standards, reinforcing arguments supporting my appeal for alternative Olympics. For example, why are there no ‘Psychotic Olympics’ for the severely mentally ill? It can hardly be more dangerous than blind hammer and discus throwers, which reminds me I must go and look for my mail—my postman is blind!
Ta-ta!
Arthur.
Wednesday 16 July 2008
PERIODS
A trial period,
Periods are trying,
A particular trial
For those in (periodic) denial,
Brief periods spent lounging
In period furniture,
Furnish her with an excuse.
Who? You ask,
Taking her to task
Over a periodic table,
Mabel—is who—admirer of Marie Curie,
And her legendary chemical fable,
After heavy periods,
Prolonged periods with the wrong label,
Bleeding Mabel’s stable,
She’s wired but,
After a period of time has elapsed,
She sends a cable,
To her teenage nieces,
The little bleeders!
Making them peer—eerie, odd.
Periods are trying,
A particular trial
For those in (periodic) denial,
Brief periods spent lounging
In period furniture,
Furnish her with an excuse.
Who? You ask,
Taking her to task
Over a periodic table,
Mabel—is who—admirer of Marie Curie,
And her legendary chemical fable,
After heavy periods,
Prolonged periods with the wrong label,
Bleeding Mabel’s stable,
She’s wired but,
After a period of time has elapsed,
She sends a cable,
To her teenage nieces,
The little bleeders!
Making them peer—eerie, odd.
Tuesday 8 July 2008
Friday 4 July 2008
Tuesday 1 July 2008
A TASTE OF ‘YORE’ OWN MEDICINE
Nursing is synonymous with compassion.
Unless, of course, it’s nursing a grudge,
Obstetricians are associated with childbearing,
While midwives, too, can bear grudges.
Babies can be so demanding,
Making their mothers feel like drudges.
This does not detract from their maternal urges,
But (in any case) no one judges.
Although judgement can be impaired
In those who harbour grudges.
The prejudicial feeling affecting the issue it fudges,
As though it’s obscured
By an obstinate, embittered nurse,
Who never budges.
Delivering their verdict, a jury,
Surely, is supposed to be impartial,
Military law is different,
So is a court martial.
But if a jury were to consider
A case against a malicious nurse,
Accused of murder, say,
Whose defence was a curse
Of which, she claimed,
To be the helpless victim,
Meaning she helped less victims,
While selfishly filling her purse
With ill-gotten gains
From sales of celebrities’ brains,
And their other organs, too,
For recipients and for stew,
Would said jury know what to do?
Know what was right
And what was true?
Some of the jurors might bear grudges,
Maybe more than one or two,
Could they do justice?
See that legal process was going through?
The judge with a grudge could NOT be fair,
But to give their Honour their due,
They’d dress the part
And look the part,
They’d TRY to show they care.
As evidence was presented in court
To reveal the nurse’s lair,
Her harsh acts carried out
With her cold, cold stare.
Her weirdness and atrocities,
Shocking beyond compare,
Would show her fixated
With torture and Fred Astaire,
Dissatisfied with her life
That she saw as empty,
Going nowhere.
A life inside,
The judge decides,
After the inevitable verdict
The jury provides.
The sentence is harsh,
So the nurse screams out loud,
Sounding outraged, panicked,
And somehow proud,
All eyes are upon her
The court holds quite a crowd,
Such a display of pride,
After she blatantly lied,
Is ultimately her downfall,
Losing her the public’s support,
Pride precedes a fall,
They recall,
When they spare her a thought.
Unless, of course, it’s nursing a grudge,
Obstetricians are associated with childbearing,
While midwives, too, can bear grudges.
Babies can be so demanding,
Making their mothers feel like drudges.
This does not detract from their maternal urges,
But (in any case) no one judges.
Although judgement can be impaired
In those who harbour grudges.
The prejudicial feeling affecting the issue it fudges,
As though it’s obscured
By an obstinate, embittered nurse,
Who never budges.
Delivering their verdict, a jury,
Surely, is supposed to be impartial,
Military law is different,
So is a court martial.
But if a jury were to consider
A case against a malicious nurse,
Accused of murder, say,
Whose defence was a curse
Of which, she claimed,
To be the helpless victim,
Meaning she helped less victims,
While selfishly filling her purse
With ill-gotten gains
From sales of celebrities’ brains,
And their other organs, too,
For recipients and for stew,
Would said jury know what to do?
Know what was right
And what was true?
Some of the jurors might bear grudges,
Maybe more than one or two,
Could they do justice?
See that legal process was going through?
The judge with a grudge could NOT be fair,
But to give their Honour their due,
They’d dress the part
And look the part,
They’d TRY to show they care.
As evidence was presented in court
To reveal the nurse’s lair,
Her harsh acts carried out
With her cold, cold stare.
Her weirdness and atrocities,
Shocking beyond compare,
Would show her fixated
With torture and Fred Astaire,
Dissatisfied with her life
That she saw as empty,
Going nowhere.
A life inside,
The judge decides,
After the inevitable verdict
The jury provides.
The sentence is harsh,
So the nurse screams out loud,
Sounding outraged, panicked,
And somehow proud,
All eyes are upon her
The court holds quite a crowd,
Such a display of pride,
After she blatantly lied,
Is ultimately her downfall,
Losing her the public’s support,
Pride precedes a fall,
They recall,
When they spare her a thought.
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