Like as not, you haven't heard of the recently released horror film The Human Centipede. If you're slightly squeamish you may want to look away before you see me tell you that the plot concerns a mad scientist who makes a human centipede by attaching three people together (1 guy and 2 girls), from anus to mouth. Then - I dunno - they have wacky adventures or something.

Anyway. The director - Tom Six - been touting this round the festival circuit and giving a bunch of oh-so-fucking-pleased-with-himself interviews, talking about how "there's no point in making a film unless it's original" and so forth. For the record his film features two american tourists whose car breaks down in the woods, and then they get abducted by a mad scientist with a grisly agenda. Clearly his dictionary has a different definition of 'original' (and 'centipede', for that matter). Apparently a sequel is in the works.

Now. I was wondering exactly how proud he is of this film. I'm sure many of us have fantisised about producing some unequivocally brilliant work of art that we can smugly ram down the throats of every motherfucker who ever doubted us, and so forth. Surely, we've all imagined that moment of triumph where we see a old teacher who was certain we would never amount to anything, and say "Yeah? Well you know what? Now I've directed a full length movie!" Anyone here ever fantasised about appending that with "About a Nazi who stitches two chicks to a Chinaman's anus"?

There's always a defensive air of "well what have you ever done?" that surrounds these film-makers - and it's an argument that frequently crops up on cretin-magnet website IMDB, as though movie-making were somehow the ultimate aspiration of all of humanity. It's as though making a film - any film - trumps all other endeavours. Of course, anyone with a DV camera can film something for 90 minutes, even if it's just the fricken' bookshelf. So what's the achievement here? The production values seem, if not 'high', then at least slightly beyond totally amateur (it looks a bit slicker than Evil Dead for example). So maybe, it's the fact that he persuaded investors to give him money. Which, apparently Tom did by avoiding the fact that his film was about three folk with their heads up each other's asses. He also did the same to get the actresses on board figuring - correctly, no doubt - that most people wouldn't want to spend several weeks bandaged into someone else's ass crack and feigning eating their shit.

So maybe that's the achievement here - lying to investors and actors in order to pull together a pointless film based on an idea that you had in the pub. The thing is, now he's made his film it's going to be hard for him to get away from it. Every where he goes he'll want to bring up the fact that he made a film, motherfuckers. But then, there's the inevitable question "what was your film about?". You'd think that making a movie would wind up being a sure fire pulling technique. unless that film was about cutting up pretty girls and making them eat shit. Whoops! And if the directing career dries up, how are you going to explain that gap on your CV in job interviews? "What were you doing for those five years" "I directed a couple of films, requiring excellent project management techniques, and dedicated fundraising skills. I look forward to applying these abilities-" "A film eh? What about?" "Er. A man crapping into these two other chicks. They're joined together. Like a centipede, if centipedes were made up of three centipedes joined together." "Thanks. We'll let you know."

Cycling to work this morning, I saw a business man in a suit (must have been in his mid thirties) yawn and rub his eyes in exactly the same way my daughter does when she wants to go to bed. I had a powerful urge to pick him up and rub his back while he rested his head on my shoulder, sucking his thumb, before putting him down in his cot. 

I've never heard of this "Face Book". Is it just pictures of lots of people's faces displayed in a book?

Stats for my Wordpress blog. This must be how Horne and Corden felt.

I see from the news that Formula 1 driver Lewis Hamilton has had his car impounded for dangerous driving. Why is it that whenever a racing car driver gets caught for speeding people are always like "hahaha! He's been told off for fast driving even though fast driving is his job lol!" whereas if an off-duty army recruit goes berserk with a machete, guns down a load of Muslims in South London, and then fires a rocket at a school, people's sense of irony just evaporates.

Although I don't seem to be making that many updates these days, when I do it generally seems to be driven by the fact that I'm a stupid fucker and as such I say stupid fucking things. For example.

Started a marketing course a couple if months ago. Been in marketing for about five years, and I thought that being a stupid fucker was maybe the only qualification I needed. But it turns out I can get an official Stupid Fucker certificate, so I thought "yeah, I'll do that". So I paid, like, two and a half grand of my own money to watch a man stand in front of a class and say things like "Microsoft has a strong brand". Even though the moment people think of Microsoft they think "rip-off, rich bastards, wobbly products, coporate evil" etc. Not exactly positive brand associations. But, stupid fucker that I am, I paid my money and went on my course.

Wading through some turigid nonsense about Service Level Agreements this week, a slide called "Causes of Conflict" came up. One of the bubbles had the words 'Unplanned Events' written in it. "Unplanned Events" said the tutor, "Such as things like 9/11". Without really thinking I blurted out "Surely 9/11 was an incredibly well-planned event?" The tutor eyeballed me and said "You sound like you admire them." Face reddenning, I tried to bring it back to the subject and said "You don't achieve something like that without an incredibly efficient project manager. It just seems unfair to describe it as unplanned". Put my head down and scribbled the word 'stupid fucker' on my notepad a couple dozen times.

Anyway. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that next time I'm in a room with a bunch of other marketing half-wits, and people are shouting out the usual Great Brands, I'm going to suggest Al-Queada (<-- ha! My terrible spelling means the CIA will never pick my blog up on their clever word sensors! Take that Jason Bourne!). They're globally recognised. They've experienced massive growth in visibility thanks to flawlessly executed PR stunts, and they're extremely highly regarded among their core market. Even people who despise them despise them because they're an extremist organisation dedicated to the demolition of Judeo-Christian society. But those are their core brand values!

Take BMW, for instance. They would like us to think that BMWs are aspirational, a symbol of freedom, success and joy. But in reality people think they're nothing more than an oversized toy aimed at twats, and that the only reason they sell is because they're a less permanent alternative to having "I'm a massive wanker" tattoed on your head.

The people who hate Al-Quueaadea hate them for exactly the same reasons people love them. So their brand messaging is incredibly consistent. Well done, lads! But your problems aren't over yet.

Alan Qieuda might be going great guns with his core market, but they've probably grown as much as they can in that sector. As well as having an excellent project manager, it seems that they've also done very well on their PESTEL analysis, and identified some areas in which they can bring the... Al Queadea experience to new groups, based on the external analysis of their environment:

Ben Laden says:

"All industrial nations, mainly the big ones, are responsible for the crisis of global warming. This is a message to the whole world about those who are causing climate change, whether deliberately or not, and what we should do about that." http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/8487030.stm

Right on man! I can get behind that, and I've no desire to see the eradication of the etc etc. A great example of an organisation identifying new markets that will help them continue their massive growth.

On the other hand, he may have missed the boat, because I can't sell books on climate change for love or money at the moment, although that may just be because I'm a stupid fucker.

You Tube let me down on this, so I can't confirm whether or not my memory is accurate. I was thinking the other day about one of those deathly grim smoke alarm adverts from the nineties. It featured a TV showing VHS video of a little girl unwrapping her presents saying "thank you Mummy!". Rewind. "Thank you mummy!" and the camera pulls back to show a sobbing mother clutching a remote control, watching this footage of her dead daughter. Smoke Kills. The thing I vaguely remember, is the husband coming into shot and trying to wrest the remote away from her, like "Come on now. This isn't healthy... and anyway Match of The Day is on."

Like anything worth having, the very best whiskies aren't that easy to track down - but if you can get your hands on them, it's well worth it. Your local London Whiskey Shop may not - unless you're very lucky - stock Royal Game. Howvere, I know that Gwynne's corner Shop in Colehill still has a few bottles left. It's about £7.99 for a litre, so it's not cheap - but it's definitely worth splurging out on if Kestrel Super-Strength Lager seems a bit underpowered for you ever since you had that fall near the canal.

I once heard a chef and an art-critic arguing on Radio 4 about whether cheffing could ever be an 'art'. The Critic said 'no', because the range of emotions you would seek to evoke with food are limited. Specifically, he said until someone describes your food as "harrowing" and you take it as a compliment, then food will never be an art form.

With that in mind Royal Game is truly high art, and will help you transcend the boundaries of mundane reality in the way only great works can do. The label boasts that it's "The Finest Blend", and you start to realise that this is no idle boast, that this blended whiskey can achieve things that pandering, people pleasing single malts could never do. Initially, the taste is a surprise. You're going to be taken on a journey though your childhood. The drink skilfully evokes worming medicine, TCP and the kind of toxic paint people kept telling you not to drink. Listen to them no more! You're an adult now and this is your prize to seize.

The first half litre is fairly agreeable, if tinged with a longing melancholy for lost days. This is merely a set up that will make the second half that much more powerful and moving (like the classic novel The Outsider, with which Royal Game shares many themes, it is meant to be consumed in one sitting). After that - sort of pleasant - first half, things start to become undone. Your vision starts to waver, and a deep dread starts to build. People will start getting in your face at this point, asking you questions you can't answer (eg, "are you alright?"). They may even try to take the Royal Game away. You may find that even if you want them to, they won't be able to take it from your hands. Push them away, head to the woods, be alone now. You'll find, at this point that your memory of your life collapses. Anything pleasant you felt before is smashed into a flat haze of blind existential fear and anger, and that there is no 'child' you anymore, no hopeful cherub, no ambitious teenager, these beings aren't within you, they're not 'you' They're just a memory, and all that's left of them is a screaming, sobbing man lying in the woods clutching an empty bottle of whiskey, and in time, he will be gone too. None of it matters, and before long, no one will care or remember. This is the royal game and whether you want to or not, it's one you will be forced to play.”