B-dom, b-dom.....

Christ Anthony H. Wilson's a cunt....

Happy New Year,


xxxx

'Berta





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The Dalai Lama...

Myspace gets quite a lot of stick in snootier circles (The Grauniad, Personal Computer Weekly, Housewives' Choice etc..) but I think a lot of this animosity and contempt is ill-deserved, actually. You know, it's not just a paedophile-friendly jizz joint where you can while away weeks on end gawping at scantily-clad goth girls splattered in feck blood, listening to the atrocious SlipKnot cover versions they've posted up that sound like someone vomiting over a Black Sabbath track played backwards (although that is quite a large part of the appeal, obviously. As Stray Photon will concur...) But really, there's a lot of good (i.e. non-pornographic) stuff on there too.

For instance, the other day I came across this nice looking bald chap in his 70s, dressed in orange. He looked kind of cute and had a smile that was sort of, how can I put it? - Serene? Anyways, I thought what the heck? And sent him this message:

I came across your myspace by accident, your Royal Highness - I'd typed in Dial-a-Llama, and you came up.

It's nice to have met you anyway - I really admire what you do.

(I guess I'll just have to do without the Llama....)

Much love, peace and respect to you, sir,


xxxx


'Berta

And I got this reply:

that made me smile. many blessings to you, namaste.

His myspace is here if you want to check him out.

Don't know about you, but I think I'm in there....



xxxx

'Berta



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Camera Obscura...

Hi, you probably don't know me. I'm Bob's half sister Roberta. Or people call me 'Berta for short, especially if they're in a hurry. Anyway, I've been asked to take over Bob's blog as he's been knighted or something and has taken to swanning around with Prince Charles, Stephen Fry and Keith Allen and all those other establishment bods.

Well, truth is, I'm a bit busy myself really, being as I am a global celebrity wannabe and aspiring Glenda Stefanni style pop legend and all. But you know Bob - he can be very persuasive....(and, more to the point, he's bloody loaded - you don't think I'm doing this gratis, do you??) So I thought - what the heck? Why not! Obviously, I won't be quite as prolific as Bob (he didn't have a huge audience of Goth Girls splattered in Feck blood to keep happy, for starters...!!) But I'll do my darnedest to keep the think going in his memory.

And just in case any of you think I will only be using this space as a blatant and gratuitous way of publicising my Myspace space (er hem....it's here if you're interested, btw) I thought I'd direct you to this lot who are also on there and, if you ask me, bloody brilliant stuff!!

Have a listen here.

I'm loving 'If Looks Could Kill' right now...

Right you lot, I'm off.

Speak soon,


xxxx

'Berta



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Honoured...

When I saw the crest on the back of the envelope, I thought at first that it was another demand from the Inheritence Tax bods. As if £50,000 smackers plus wasn't enough, already..

But when I opened it, there was a heavily scented letter (vermouth/curry powder - slight undertone of vomit, or possibly ready-grated supermarket parmesan - I can't be certain). It read:

Dear Mr. Swipe,

I am writing to you on behalf of Her Majesty in connection with this year's New Year's Honours List. I have the pleasure to inform you that you are to be recognised for your services to the world wide web, telecommunications and cheap, soft-porn satires at the expense of insignificant television presenters and dwarf-baiitng by being awarded Membership of the Order of The British Empire. Her Majesty has asked me to communicate her own personal satisfaction at the nomination as she has for some time been a keen reader of your work, despising as she does, "that bloody Kerplunkski woman", as she is wont to refer to a certain television presenter. Her Majesty is a woman of strong opinion, not easily deflected from her prejudices, and is not particularly fond of the Poles as a people, I'm afraid.

Assuming your acceptance of the award, your investiture will take place on 13th March at 3pm. Kneepads will be provided, although you may wish to provide your own condiments, according to taste. I would be grateful if you could confirm to me in writing whether or not you wish to attend. Her Majesty still hasn't forgiven "that scouse wanker" for returning his. "Cold Turkey? My Arse!" is a frequently heard cry around the royal residences whenver the wireless happens to be tuned to counting down of the hit parade. A shame, as the Queen Mother was somewhat of a fan.

RSVP

Hamish MacRae-Canteloupe, Equerry to the Royal Household.

Then this, in a girlish scrawl at the bottom (hearts instead of dots over the 'i's:

...it would have been last year if it hadn't been for that Blumen Hestonthal...

So, what to do??


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© 2006 Swipe Enterprises

Honoured...

When I saw the crest on the back of the envelope, I thought at first that it was another demand from the Inheritence Tax bods. As if £50,000 smackers plus wasn't enough, already..

But when I opened it, there was a heavily scented letter (vermouth/curry powder - slight undertone of vomit, or possibly ready-grated supermarket parmesan - I can't be certain). It read:

Dear Mr. Swipe,

I am writing to you on behalf of Her Majesty in connection with this year's New Year's Honours List. I have the pleasure to inform you that you are to be recognised for your services to the world wide web, telecommunications and cheap, soft-porn satires at the expense of insignificant television presenters and dwarf-baiitng by being awarded Membership of the Order of The British Empire. Her Majesty has asked me to communicate her own personal satisfaction at the nomination as she has for some time been a keen reader of your work, despising as she does, "that bloody Kerplunkski woman", as she is wont to refer to a certain television presenter. Her Majesty is a woman of strong opinion, not easily deflected from her prejudices, and is not particularly fond of the Poles as a people, I'm afraid.

Assuming your acceptance of the award, your investiture will take place on 13th March at 3pm. Kneepads will be provided, although you may wish to provide your own condiments, according to taste. I would be grateful if you could confirm to me in writing whether or not you wish to attend. Her Majesty still hasn't forgiven "that scouse wanker" for returning his. "Cold Turkey? My Arse!" is a frequently heard cry around the royal residences whenver the wireless happens to be tuned to counting down of the hit parade. A shame, as the Queen Mother was somewhat of a fan.

RSVP

Hamish MacRae-Canteloupe, Equerry to the Royal Household.

Then this, in a girlish scrawl at the bottom (hearts instead of dots over the 'i's:

...it would have been last year if it hadn't been for that Blumen Hestonthal...

So, what to do??


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© 2006 Swipe Enterprises

I'm Speechless....

Email from Todd Blogney:

PS r*f*s met bowie last week and he said 'he sooo thinks he's Robert Swipe!!'

My reply:

…he *was* me for a year, wasn’t he?

Todd continued:

No seriously.. r*f*s says he's exactly like you..

My reply:

[...]

I'm sure you can all fill in the punchline....



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Christmas #1/Bob's Festive 50...

As PC-gone-made-lunatics at BA attempt to stifle the Christian faith, we here at Swipe Towers enter the season of goodwill to all men (and a couple of tasty birds too) with all barrels loaded. How very dare they rob us of our cribs, gently braised wild fowl and copious amounts of cheap cash and carry absinthe as we charge our glasses in memory of the birthday of the saviour of mankind. Don't these people know the true meaning of Christmas? I mean, when else were we going to watch those endless re-runs of the 1977 Morecambe & Wise Christmas Special? Easter??

But these killjoys will not have it all their own way. And to prove it, The Swipe Show will be beginning our Christmas festivities even earlier than usual. To this end, we'll be launching our traditional Christmas #1 campaign today. Just go here and have a listen to 'Christmas Dinner' by Fuzzy Brown - our tip for the yuletide top spot this year. It's a real belter and its message of religious tolerance (well, apart from the Jews, obviously), the brotherhood of man allied to some splendidly histrionic axe-battering have made it a real firm favourite in our office. Please do all you can to put this record* where it belongs - top of the hit pararde by a bloody mile!

As if that were not enough, voting starts today in our traditional** Festive Fifty*** Chart. That's right, in time honoured John Peel fashion, all you have to do is vote for your three favourite songs that have featured on this year's Bobcasts and we'll then rundown our listeners favourites in a special one off Christmas Day Bobcast! So get sending in those votes, pop-pickers!!

And is if all *that* wasn't enough, here's another chance to read last year's fabulous Swipe Show re-working of It's a Wonderful Life...

God bless us all, everyone!!!!!


*I'm sure it will be released one day....

**We're hoping one day it will become so...

***Only we'll be doing a top ten, not fifty. Do you have any idea how large a file to download that would be??

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Tag Heuer...

This is one of those tag things. I have to tell you 5 things about myself and then tag three other people.*

1. I have a rotten cock.

2. I don't live in Slough.

3. I support Arsenal F.C.

4. On Wednesday night I saw them lose for the first time in 40 years to Fulham F.C.

5. I am *well* ragged off about it.

I nominate Brian Damage, Stewart Lee and Roger de Courcey and Nookie Bare (South West Devon's premier pornographic puppet act!!)

*The Rock Mother made me do it.

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Craven Cottage...

Anyone who's never been to a Premiership match in the London area could do a lot worse than take the short stroll along the river Thames from Hammersmith Bridge to the home of Fulham F.C. Don't be put off by the slightly aggressive posturing in the name of their fanzine ("There's only one 'F' in Fulham") - they're like pussycats. No, really - they *are* Indeed, it's more like a night out at the dogs or evening races than the normally adversarial atmosphere at many other football grounds - as if the crowd is amusedly watching the antics of the creatures rushing around before them, mildly interested as to which of them will come out on top. Of course they're partisan and want the team to do well, but they're as likely to indulge in the time-honoured pursuit of barracking their own players (even at two-nil up against the [once] mighty Arsenal, than for the more usual hero-worship and idolatry). Robin van Persie's exceptional long range free kick even brought a generous smattering of appreciative applause from around the ground, even though it brought Arsenal back into a game that had started to look all over, bar the shouting. Of course there were the occasional paedophile chants directed at the dapper-as-ever Arsene Wenger. But you can't expect them to keep *all* the Stamford Bridge lot out, what with the clubs being so close....

In fact, if you're lucky enough to get a seat in the newly refurbed Riverside stand, you can spend the pre-match and half time interludes on the terrace that looks out over the Thames, supping on an exhorbitantly priced (3 nicker for a 330 ml) bottle of Fosters and gorging on a tasty (but miniscule) cheese, onion and mushroom pie with the rest of the Fulham faithful - a charming mix of old time cockernees, French, Japanese and abundant Chiswick, Hammersmith nouveaux riches of admirably mixed gender (admittedly, you'd probably have to be to be able to afford the ticket prices. I paid 50 notes for mine. Mind you, you probably wouldn't have to pay quite so much to watch one of the less attractive sides. Middlesbrough visit soon. Or better still, wait for the local derby with Cheslea. They'll probably be giving them away for that.) The ubuiquitous racism aside ("come on you whites!" What's that all about? Half their players were black!)

All in all, a wonderful evening out, the highlight being the walk back among the happy hordes. Their first victory over Arsenal in 40 years brought about little of the more usual triumphalism and gloating. Rather, a joyful buzz filled the west London night air, as if each of the supporters was emittting a little E.T. like hum of deep satisfaction beneath their overcoats and jumpers. It can't have been all that different from the days when my Dad would accompany a drinking mate of his to the Cottage, returning with a broad grin on his face, brandishing a copy of the print out to the popular terrace chant of the time, the one the then standing terraces sung out to Elkie Brooks' most famous tune: "Earl's a Winger". Halfway across Hammersmith Bridge, back once more in the breast of the London Borough of Richmond-upon-Thames, I looked back east along the river to see the brilliant glare of the floodlights breaking through the silhouettes of the clumps of bare riverbank trees, like a second moon. You really should give it a go some time - especially an evening game.

It's just a shame the Arsenal never turned up.

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