Also looks like evil robot.
This just in:
It is always nice to be thought of. And this shit jams son.
Hold tight Dominic Diamond!
And hold tight Yoda on those military snares.
CASTLE OF ILLUSION FOR EVER!
Image by Akira The Don and Zef
Following yesterday’s craziness about blocking non-McDonalds chip sales and telling pubs what beers they can put on their blackboards, here comes more insane fuckery from the psychopaths at LOGOC. From The Telegraph:
Officers who will be patrolling the Games’ rowing events at Eton, Berks., were amazed when told by senior officers told them they must not be seen with snacks such as Walker’s crisps or Ginsters pasties.
Thames Valley Police insisted that before going to the Olympic events officers, including Royal Protection guards, must empty their snacks into a clear polythene bag.
The top-level instruction, based on guidelines from the Games’ London organisers, was designed to protect advertising by the official sponsors including Coca Cola, Cadbury’s and McDonalds.
With the games being televised around the world, organising bigwigs have moved to stop any free advertising for firms which haven’t forked out millions in sponsorship money.
The London Organising Committee of the Olympic and Paralympic Games (LOCOG) sent a directive to all forces involved in the policing of the Games to comply with the order.
It meant that Pc’s protecting the millions of spectators expected to watch the events live at venues in and around London will be forced to empty their branded sandwiches, crisps and chocolate bars into unidentifiable packaging.
With just days to go until the opening ceremony of the biggest sporting event in the world, police officers were up in arms over the absurd rule.
A Police Federation member for Thames Valley Police, who are policing all rowing events for the Olympic and Paralypic Games at Dorney Lake, in Eton, Berks., said: “I’d like to see a security guard try to tell a police officer to empty his lunch into clear bags.
“They’d have to be very brave because the answer he’d get would be very short indeed.”
A Thames Valley Police spokesman said in a statement: “We are expected to comply with LOCOG requirements and therefore are not expected to enter the venue with any goods that do not reflect sponsors.
“This position will be briefed to all officers and staff, although operational effectiveness and any response to an incident will always be our priority.”
However, after LOCOG was made aware of the strict interpretation of their rules by Thames Valley Police chiefs and the discord of officers, they spoke to the police and issued clarification.
“The revised guidance amounts to a major climbdown by our top brass who have realised they were taking the ‘no branding or advertising’ rules a tad too literally,” said one police officer involved in the Dorney Rowing Lake events.
“It is a victory for commonsense – but if we hadn’t kicked up a fuss, they would have had us decanting our crisps and pop into unmarked containers.”
A spokesman for LOCOG said that the rule had been put in place to stop unauthorised brands advertising at the Games and not to stop anyone enjoying the event.
The spokesman said: “We wouldn’t want to tell people what they can bring into the venues and what they can’t.
“There are rules about brands which are aimed around advertising but petty things like food products aren’t the target of it.
“The rule is there to stop the advertising of brands who are not authorised Olympic brands.”
Read the full article here.
Could this be the FIRST DECENT SOUTH PARK GAME EVER?
Yay! Starring me!
Oh, and here’s Matt and Trey talking about it:
Ho ho ho dons and donettes. I just got back from the midlands, where me and the wife were ensconced in the bossom of my Mum’s side of the family, engaging in a mighty FEASTING, and a GIFTING, playing games and drinking beer and wine and whiskey and chasing it down with slugs of Gaviscon.
As you know, I wasn’t well before Christmas, but I rode the wave and had a gay ole time, like The Flintstones, or Lil B. I also made myself a NEMESIS, in the shape of my cousin Gail’s Labradoodle, Darcy, who barked like one of the Hounds of Hell every time I entered the room as if I were a burglar, or a murderer.
We eventually worked out that, like a school girl, Darcy was just in love with me, and wanted to play, but why females think that being horrible to you will make you like them and want to play with them I will never know. It is one of life’s great mysteries.
As far as the gifting was concerned, I pretty much WON the £25 secret santa, bagging myself not one, not two, but THREE excellent comic themed gifts – an X-Men hoodie, a home made Marvel jewelery box (I needed a jewelery box too), and a pair of Batman converse. “SWAG,” I said, gratefully, and not for the first, or last time.
I also got the ULTIMATE gift from my WIFE… 75 Years of DC Comics: The Art of Modern Mythmaking. The biggest (you could kill a man with it), and most wonderful (it is a beautiful, luxurious, expansive and deeply comprehensive history of DC Comics goddamnit) book I have EVER SEEN. Here I am, reading it. Behold the awe:
And while all this was going on, out in the universe Akira The Don was Donning on regardless. Adam Walton played Babydoll as part of his Best of 2011 show on BBC Radio Wales, and Rob Da Bank played Nothing Lasts Forever on his BBC Radio 1 show on Christmas Eve (and promises to continue:)
…shortly after which boy genius Issue released his beautiful PIG mixtape, which features Murs, Droop-E, Georgio Mo Murda and ME, amongst others. And on Christmas Day, while we were getting fat and happy, Dr Aaron Shrimpton was editing part 2 of the Life Equation Trilogy, the Video Highway video. Behold ye STILL:
Yes, he’s doing good work is that Doc Shrimpton.
Meanwhile back in the Midlands, Zef had put together a home made rum vaporiser…
…and me, Marek, Paivi and my Uncle Maurice had discovered the greatest board game since Monopoly:
Ticket To Ride - in which up to five players compete to build train lines across North America – is board game CRACK. We managed to squeeze five games in over the two days, staying up till 3am playing it on Christmas Day, and continuing on Boxing Day after the traditional walk/stick fighting contest… and we’d have still been playing it the morning after were our women not so insistent on us getting showered and packed and out of the house.
But out of the house they got us, and that was Christmas Part 1 over. It was a beautiful thing to spend a few festive days with so much of my beloved family and it will live forever in my heart.
But now we must concern ourselves with the sequel. CHRISTMAS 1.5… that bit between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. To some, a terrifying no-man’s land of bad TV and leftover dead animals, but to me a glorious turbo-holiday of lower-than-usual work expectations and LAYING AROUND IN BED ALL DAY with my WIFE playing COMPUTER GAMES and DRINKING COCKTAILS.
We stayed in bed till about 3 today playing Sonic Generations, which is excellent, then we went on a little bike ride to hand-deliver a copy of Saturnalia Superman to someone Royal Mail failed.
Then we decided to buy Skyrim.
That was around 7pm. It is now 03:02 am, and I have just emerged from the bedroom, eyes as big as dinner plates, twitching and muttering about dragons. I spent about 4 hours of that time working my way through a vast tomb full of skelingtons straight out of Jason And The Argonauts with a great big fuck off sword to find some goddamn dragonstone, only to be attacked and repeatedly murdered for an hour straight by angry villagers upon my glorious return. All I did was steal a cheese. Eventually I worked out that if I sheathed my great big fuck off sword the bastards would stop killing me, waiting for me to respawn, then killing me again. I was ready to weep. I’d merked about a hundred skelingtons with battleaxes and here I was on an infinty death loop at the hand of a rabble of goddamn pesants. If there’s a hell, that’s what Tony Blair’s getting.
Oh, and you know what the first thing that happened to me in Skyrim, once I’d gotten out of the opening act – was? I got attacked by a bloody dog.
Ale jaca est.
And it’s back to San Andreas we go! YESSSS!