Porn-a-Like Bumper Issue

Today’s Porn-a-Like is a double feature starring: Bruno Brookes & Michelle McManus.

One day after a particularly tough rollicking from his latest wife Bruno Brookes decides that in his constant struggle for superiority over women he has been defeated, and so, in rolling out one old chestnut after another to console himself he gets out one of his favoured index cards and writes: “If you can’t beat ‘em (and you can’t Bruno, John Law says so) join ‘em” and selotapes this to his forehead before going to his GP to get the ins-and-outs of sex realignment op.

Here he is enjoying a tryst with Michelle McManus who Bruno has signed to his new record label, Mullet in a Gusset, in a vain attempt to get back into Show Biz. Unfortunately Michelle’s first single ‘Would You Eat Lasagne With Me’ sank without a trace and the label went into liquidation. Bruno though, no stranger to failure and a genius in turning a turd into a triple layer sponge cake of cash re-launched the label as a porn outfit, married Michelle in Britain’s first ever lesbian-transgender-marriage officiated over by the newly ordained Jedward (who have also signed up to the smut label as a novelty gay-twin-incest priest outfit) and since then the bizarre porn he produces, (a screen cap of which appears below) has seen him/her amass a fortune of 100million pounds, most of which he/she has reinvested into shares in hotdogs and the people that produce the jokes on ice lolly sticks.

From the Bruno Brookes produced porno ‘An Angel In My Fanny’ a much circulated shot* taken by Gloria Hunniford of her very distended labia in which she insists you can see the face of her beloved dead daughter and ex-Blue Peter illuminati (alumnus) Karen Keating.


Today while kicking around a few ideas as to how to make money to feed the baby Kimba will be dropping soon, I drew up finally two possibilities;

1. Turn her out. ---- Downside: John’s mostly don’t go for pregnant chicks, so I’ve heard.
2. Put her in the movies, i.e. porn. The freaks are no longer on the streets and have decamped to their bedroom. There’s any amount of freaks out there looking to get their rocks off to dubious material. One facet of the freak market is pregnant chicks porno. In porn the more freakish the shit the higher a price you can sell it for.

So I put this latter idea to Kimba, telling her that if we’re freaky enough one video could pay off so much we wouldn’t have to make any more.
How freaky, she asked.
Well, very, I said. Like some sort of bestiality will have to be involved. Probably the imbibing of menstrual blood. Maybe at some point we could induce labour and when the wee scrota comes out we get the dog, some big Alsatian or Pit Bull or something, to eat it alive. Freaks dig death -
No, she squealed.
Only joking, I chortled.
I’m up for some freaky shit, she said conveniently. Me and The Mistress used to get up to all sorts of profaneness. Actually she could help us out no end in this. Let’s get her help. I’m sure she’s forgiven me for our last falling out, plus you can finally get to meet her. Yay, she went in a meek-numb faux smack head fashion.
No fuck, meet her? I said with much more feeling...No! We can do it ourselves.

* The above is mostly made up, but whoever can tell me what this really is will get a surprise baggy from yours truly, Danny Pongo. --- And so here's Bowie, Hammersmith 1972 to ruminate to:

The Great Coronation Street Massacre

Today I was laid up with the cold and watched hours of TV, one of my favourite things to do. There’s an ace Handsome Family song, called Drunk By Noon. One of the lyrics goes:

Sometimes I can’t wait to come down with cancer/ at least then I’d get to watch TV all day/ and on my deathbed I’ll get all the answers/ even if all my questions are taken away//

During the channel 5 movie, which today starred Brian Dennehy, and which was very boring, I listened to this song on my Hi-Fi. For me the novelty of being laid up wears off quickly. Due to some internal working of mine I am unable to fall asleep and snooze through a flu/cold. Today I made do with trying to make shapes and objects out of the nicotine stains on my ceiling. Much like cloud spotting that, only like a sort of hell for sinful cloud spotters, where they can do nothing other than stare at the same clouds for all eternity.

My favourite movie to watch when sick is Hannah And Her Sisters, which coincidentally is the same film that Robb Flynn, lead singer of hard-ass Californian band MachineHead, likes to watch when he’s sick, too. Barbara Hershey can still do it for me even when I’m sweating half my body weight out with a temperature over 100degrees. I’ve a feeling Robb Flynn feels the same way.

Which brings me on to today’s Porn-a-Like, which took up a great deal of the afternoon/early evening to find - up until Coronation Street came on.

Today’s Porn-a-Like is Andrea Catherwood, newscaster from Northern Ireland. I like to imagine Andrea has lost the will to live, reporting all those war casualties from Iraqistan, and so, to inject some zest back into her automaton existence, she takes on the roll of a call girl every Saturday night. Way to go, Andrea!

Tonight’s Coronation Street Double Bill was fantastic. Firstly, Tony’s madness has come to the boil and he has perfected that shiftless psycho stare that would make you feel like you were pissing into the lightening were it to fall on you. When he breaks into autistic Roy’s cafe looking to kill him he moves like the terminator when he’s in that nightclub trying to find Sarah Connor. You could hear every stainless steel joint creek.
Gary Windass is thinking of joining the army. His mother’s and other Coronation Street residents reaction to this I found surprising, in that they ridiculed him and warned against it. I would have felt that the producers would’ve had an obligation to their sponsors, Harvey’s, to have characters actively support the war/recruitment to the army. Because after all, it is Harvey’s who have won the contract to refurnish all the Iraqi’s new houses the coalition are building for them after they’re done carpet bombing all their old ones. Build them all shiny new democratic abodes, with all the mod-cons, and, this is where Harvey’s comes in, all in need of some nice plush sofas and those ornaments that come alive during the ad breaks, which in a duel capacity will keep those mad mullahs in line.

But whatever. Yet I have this suggestion for the scriptwriters: Gary Windass goes off to war, comes back battle scarred and a bit mental and promptly garrottes his good-for-nothing dad Eddie, then knifes his mewing ma, Anna, to death, stabbing her 874 times, a UK record for numbers of stab wounds in a knife murder (this fact is quipped upon my Norris a fortnight later, when the shock of the incident has subsided, the quickness due to soaps’ sped up laws of time which is 6 times faster than in this dimension). He then goes out onto the street and does a Hungerford. He bursts into the Rovers with a 12-guage and blasts a massive hole in the alabaster bake of 64-going-on-21 year old Liz McDonald. Steve McDonald, her son, does some of his giddy man-child astonishment + bemusement shtick and throws his hands high in the air and flexes his fingers about like a brain damaged toddler when he sees this, and Windass blows his fingers off. Betty gets it through a hotpot she’s carrying out from the back, which causes the fragments of the plate to fly into Ken Barlow’s eyes, blinding him (3 years later he gets so fed up because he can’t read his boring classics he kills himself). Windass then kills Audrey Roberts, David Platt, Mad Joe The Kitchen Fitter, and E.T bake herself, Gail Platt.

Tight mouthed adulterer Kevin Webster gets it next as he works in his car repair shop. After Kevin is shot to death Windass continues to fire more rounds into the garage causing a fuel tank to explode, which somehow blows up the Underworld knicker making factory killing all inside. Windass’ gun spree then abruptly comes to an end when Jack’s pigeons swoop on him a la The Birds and cocoon him in a pile of toxic pigeon shit, which is henceforth kept there as a remembrance off and to the great Coronation Street Massacre.

Just a suggestion, Coronation Street writers, if you’re reading. You could wipe out half the cast this way in a character referb’?

I Loved You Before I Could Even Call Your Name

I got off the bus at the Europa and walked through the arcade, stopping at the front steps next to the bronze washer women and rolled a total miscarriage of a smoke due to my unfeeling cold numb fingers. Cold’s crept up quick and quiet like a dark corners rapist.

I smoked the wrinkled banana bent fag and stared at the bronze washer women. I bet you the one who made them calls them ‘wemmin’ on all his pamphlets. One of them put me in mind of Julian Simmons. I imagined him dressing up like one for his nightly Corrie intros.

They’re weird those bronze washer women. They’ve got tennis rackets and rolling pins and all types of kitchen utensils stuck to them. These items seem to be growing out of them – or are somehow part of them anyway. Made me think of the Philadelphia experiment where the US Navy sent this frigate full of seamen forward in time to 1984 then back again to 1943/44, I think it was. When they got back they’d bits of the ship sticking out of them (like guardrails say) and some had become entombed in the walls. Others had their bodies sticking out of the floor – and some – were merged together, half and half like too Siamese Siamese twins.

Which reminds me of a Madeline McCann joke – What do Madeline McCann and a submarine have in common? They’re both at the bottom of the ocean filled with seamen....!!

So I stood musing over these washer women when I noticed this girl walk past, all of 16. She was the spit of Amy Winehouse – and had obviously aped her style to make her look even more so. I’ve always had a thing for Amy Winehouse and that combined with my look-a-like fetish had me nearly tailing this girl home. But I didn’t – when I remembered that if she was only 16 – and she looked that more or less that – then I’d not be able to rattle her anyway, seeing the age of consent here was 17 (as far as I know?)

Then a great memory entered my head when I remembered how Loaded in the 90’s had a page of Porn-a-Likes where they had shots of these porn actors who looked like famous people: Richard Madeley, Lorraine Kelly, Torville and Deane etc etc. So I have decided to host my own weekly Porn—a-Likes here in honour of this Loaded tradition – which was, in all honesty, one of the only good things about it.

At home I started in on the porn then. I sort of knew what to look for – or the general direction to take. Porn is one of my major habits. Or hobbies, whatever you like. It makes for a better hobby anyway than what I filled in on my 3rd year career class questionnaire, which was: Hobbies in ascending order – 1. Home and Away 2. Dreaming 3. Going to the toilet to drop one.

Eventually I found what I was after. It was entitled ‘Amateur takes it from behind from big Jamaican. Sweet.’ In it there was a girl who looked the AW. And the guy looked a little bit like Seal. Plan to turn this into a weekly (or twice weekly) feature, depending what the frequency of my porn viewing is, which at the minute averages out on 3 times a day.