Light Sabre

As part of Star Wars’ 30th Anniversary celebrations, Space Shuttle Discovery will carry an unusual cargo in the form of Luke Skywalker’s light sabre as it lifts off with seven astronauts on its way to the International Space Station later this month.
The famous sci-fi prop was given to NASA officials by some of the main Star Wars characters including Chewbacca, Boba Fett, Jango Fett, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, various X-Wing pilots, Jedi, and storm troopers from the Golden Gate Garrison of the 501st Legion.

These are the same crack storm troopers that allowed themselves to be humiliated by a kid with a sword, a girl, a hippy with a pistol and a seven-foot tall teddy-bear.  Known throughout the galaxy as the ‘storm pussies’ their embarrassment means that they may never remove their helmets.  Darth Vader said of them that “never have so many been so outwitted by so few, only the X-Wing pilots have been more of a disappointment to me.”

“Yeee aaahh ooooo!” said Chewbacca, which is Wookie for “You came, You saw, We kicked your arse!”

Doug Mattice, of Space Centre Houston, NASA’s visitor complex, said:
“We hope the Discovery crew get it out while they’re up there and spend some time mucking about with it.”
What’s he talking about?
“It would be funny to think there were astronauts up in space attacking each other with the Star Wars light sabre.”
Oh yeah, the light sabre.

Yeah, that would be hilarious, perhaps they could dress up in some of the uniforms as well, that would scare the Russians when they meet up in the Space Station.

Help us Old Ben Behind Me, you’re our only hope.

 

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Communication

I had a stalker on the walk home from work last night.  One of those blue and yellow police helicopters was taking the same route as me across the town.  It kept flying in little circles and I could see the crew looking down at me.  I wasn’t concerned at first.  I was eating an ‘individual’ pork pie that I had bought for lunch but then decided to eat as a treat on the way home.  (What the hell is an ‘individual’ pork pie?  Has it no friends?  Has it a unique character all of its own?). 

Moreover, I was on the way home from work, so everything was ok. 

The police swooped lower for a closer look and I could lip-read what the observer was saying into his radio;

“He is wearing a black jacket and he has a bun.”

The Control Centre crackled back at him through his headphones.

“What do you mean ‘shoot to kill’?” shouted the observer,“He’s just some fat bloke!”

The pilot had heard some of that and I saw the machine gun at the front swing around to point at me.

The headphones crackled again.

“No!” replied the observer, “Not a flack jacket and a gun!  A black jacket and a bun!”

Control was silent for a few seconds then sent another burst of static into his ear.

“I don’t know what sort of bun!  Do you want me to ask him?”

The megaphone on the helicopter came to life and bellowed down at me: “What sort of bun is that you are eating?”

Several other pedestrians were looking now.

“It’s a Melton Mowbray pork pie!”  I yelled, spaying crumbs from my mouth.  I waved the pie in the air.

The observer reported to control, “He’s a foreigner; I didn’t understand a word of what he said”.

Control gave him his orders and he relayed them to the pilot.

“We’ve got to leave him and go back to base; we can’t be seen to be harassing immigrants.”

“It’s a pork pie!”  I shouted at the retreating helicopter.

 A little old woman who had been watching, glowered at me, “Bloody foreigners!” she muttered.

 

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Shibboleth 2007

Sculptor Doris Salcedo has unveiled a hole at the Tate Modern – the latest installation in the art gallery’s Turbine Hall.

The work, entitled Shibboleth 2007, runs the full 167 metres of the cavernous hall on London’s South Bank.  It begins as a crack then widens and deepens as it snakes across the room.  Colombian artist Salcedo said the work symbolised racial hatred and division in society.

“I always try to relate my work to tragedy,” she said.
And I know that many of the rest of us will do the same.

In trying to comprehend this interesting piece, it is important to understand the title.  Shibboleth is Hebrew for ‘stream of water’ but it has come to describe an arbitrary test or custom that distinguishes one group from another.

For example, one group who understand why a crack and hole in the floor of the Tate Modern is art but a crack and hole in the street outside my house is ‘essential maintenance.’

And a second group who don’t understand it and have no intention of setting foot in the Tate Modern, especially now that there is an additional Health and Safety hazard to contend with.

Salcedo claims that the work took her over a year to make and apparently spent the past five weeks installing it in the Tate, but she refused to reveal how it was achieved.
“What is important is the meaning of the piece.  The making of it is not important,” she said, adding that the work was “bottomless…..as deep as humanity”.

I disagree there.  I think the making of it is very important.  What was the hole in originally and how do you pick up a hole that you have made, carry it somewhere else and ‘install’ it?
Also, if it is bottomless, surely there must be a corresponding hole in Australia, China or somewhere?
Perhaps that’s what she’s done, perhaps there’s an identical installation in the Sydney Museum of Modern Art and if you drop a fruit gum or a pencil into the hole in the Tate it pops out in Sydney and frightens the night watchman.

It needs testing.
Next time you’re passing the Tate pop in there and stuff something down their hole. I’d volunteer but my life has enough holes in it already.

 

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Strictly on a Journey – Review

Why is everybody on a ‘journey’?  In ‘Strictly Not Dancing’ it’s only the first night and everyone will improve, they are on a ‘journey’.  In ‘I’m a B List Celebrity Hype Me Up Here’ everybody’s behaving like spoilt children, but it’s ok, they are on a ‘journey’. 
No they are not, they’ve been on a journey to get there and most of them will make the return journey home, but the whole point of the programme is that they stay where they are. 

If you want to see somebody on a journey, watch Michael Palin; he’s always off somewhere or other at the licence payers’ expense.  Or that Bruce Parry in ‘Tribe’; he’ll travel half way around the world and live off a handful of tree stump.  Those are real journeys.

Anyway, thank goodness ‘Strictly etc’ is back, it’s so exciting watching all those celebrities dancing with the professional dancers.  Last night Techtonic and Labia were attempting a progressive dance including a Guapacha step whilst dressed as the characters from ‘Dr Zhivago’.  But once in the Sweetheart position Techtonic got a piece of Labia’s muff trapped in his teeth and during the struggle to free himself they tripped and went headfirst into the audience.  Luckily they fell onto the sweet trolley and two black forest gateau’s and a bowl of sherry trifle cushioned their landing.  The trolley shot across the dance floor, down the stairs and out through the emergency exit with Techtonic and Labia desperately clutching onto it. 

A witness from outside the Television centre stated; “They were lucky because the number 220 bus just missed running them down, but they were unlucky because their trolley got caught on the number 72 bus and they were dragged off in the direction of Fulham.”
“Do you think they’ll be back next week?” asked our reporter.
“I dunno mate, it can get pretty rough in Fulham and they were dressed like fairies and smothered in what looked like cream cake.  If the people don’t get them, their cats and dogs will.”

If they get back, now that’s what I call a journey.

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Strictly come thieving

 

Thieves have targeted the dressing room of the female stars of Strictly Come Dancing.  Dozens of necklaces, bracelets and earrings were taken in the daring raid.  “The haul must weigh about four or five kilos and have a street value of about three pounds fifty,” stated a police spokesman.  “God help us all if that lot hits the streets of Manchester!”

Also, taken was Strictly Star, Bruce Forsyth who climbed into the back of the thieves getaway car thinking it was his limo’ home.  Later that day the thieves agreed to make a four figure donation to Children in Need if the BBC took Sir Bruce back.

“Those poor crooks were literally a captive audience and after the first ten botched up music hall jokes Sir Bruce had them begging for his release,” said the spokesman, “it would have been particularly cruel to leave them suffering for another moment, so we agreed to fetch him back next Friday.”

 

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New Job for Mouriniho

Do you remember that little guy who used to stomp around his bunker waving his arms at his men?  You remember!  Tried to conquer Europe, had a bad relationship with the Russians?  No not Hitler!  Jose Mouriniho  – that’s the bloke, do you remember him?  He used to be manager of Chelsea, the football club, not the building society.

There was a meeting going on at the Council offices this morning.  A group of suits were discussing something serious; the Mayor was there and some of the council officers.  I stood and watched by the open window and was amazed to see that Mouriniho was one of them.  He’s not so short in real life, it must be because you usually see him standing in a dugout.
“What about Arsenal’s Adebayor and Portsmouth’s Mwaruwari, they’ve both scored hat-tricks and their costs are low at 8.5 and 5.9 million?” asked the Mayor.
“No, you’re talking Martin Jollocks,’ said a sharp dressed woman, ‘Torres is your man!”
“Sorry Margaret, but that’s complete nonsense, Torres never starts a game!” said Mouriniho. “You need Drogba or Rooney.”

My God!  They were plotting to overthrow Jason’s Fantasy Football Team.  It was obviously too much for them, an office junior with his name on the digital display board as top manager.  I could see Jason a few windows along, sitting at his desk working on some earwax with his biro, oblivious of the scheming in the meeting room.  On his screen was his team, Torres his central striker.  Things were getting heated in the meeting room.
“I can’t believe you were a manager, Mouriniho, I don’t understand half of what you say and the other half is incomprehensible!” shouted the Mayor.
“You believe what you want Mr Mayor, but I’m telling you Schevenko is not a good choice.”
I thought it was time to go.
As I got to the end of the street I could still hear them arguing.
“No, no, no,” sobbed Mouriniho, “not Schevenko, he costs so much and he does so little!”
Perhaps they could get him a job on the council as well, I thought.

                                                  

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