Video Village

Here it is. The final panel in the tript(d)ych. The jet nary touches the runway before the first gaffe. You and your cohorts in claptrap need to get your act together. COMMUNICATE. The last discharge was NOT the “canonical 37th episode”, you loser. I gave you fellas the benefit of the doubt. Yes, you held the fort. But now the commander has returned from a battle of sorts. Maybe it's time he (I) p...

‘Failure is a badge of honour. It means you risked failure.’ So insisted Charlie Kaufman, penner of such populism-renouncing flicks as Synecdoche, New York and I'm Thinking of Ending Things. Tell that to the orphans and widows of the Challenger disaster, Chuck. Go scream that at the rabble queueing up outside Jobcentre Plus*. At best, your aphorism is birdbrained and callous. At worst, it legitimi...

They've been doing this podcast for a year. If there were a listenership with whom to share a sense of ceremony, 't'would be an occasion worthy of observance. As such, it has been acknowledged. And now move on from it with haste do we. So Halloween “Month”, is it? So social media (YOU) would have me believe. “Christmas Month”, one has made one’s peace with. Though commercialism, pluralism and abys...

I never ask how YOU’RE doing*. How ARE you? Keeping WELL? Good, good. I attended a funeral last week. Nobody of particular personal significance, you needn’t send your sympathies†. H’was a business associate from the years of yester. Pitiful service. One gladdens in the plausibility of the family’s denial in insisting that the meagre turnout was a result not of Penguill’s odiousness but of the tra...

Chop the powder. Clear the decks. Brace your metaphysical vulva. Your head a-spin after that gloriously mongrel triplet, I dance toward you, a fuzzy apparition in the whirling panorama. As your inner ears re-acclimate to terra firma, I take thy wrist and guide thee away from the meta-go-round. We migrate t’the underpass, not for anything predatory or anything if you’re a woman or anything scandalo...

Hi hi hi, draugai. Pfidze in presence. Because Mr Kettle is in quote, pursuit of sedentary rapture, unquote, he asks me to go through his archive and choose poems and memories and reflectives for blurb-stuffing. So this is such. ---------- July 29, 1999 - Stephen Wu (Free-Form Absurdist Verse with Northern Stylings): ‘How many legs would a Woodlouse have if a Woodlouse could have legs?’ ‘Six,’ he...

Hi hi hi, draugai. Pfidze in presence. Because Mr Kettle is in quote, pursuit of sedentary rapture, unquote, he asks me to go through his archive and choose poems and memories and reflectives for blurb-stuffing. So this is such. ---------- April 14, 2012 - Paltry (Poultry) - A Poem: ‘T’was a vulgar lass Who in front didst pass In a most unwelcome fashion, Her hair in a Croydon, Her squirt with a t...

Hi hi hi, draugai. Pfidze in presence. Because Mr Kettle is in quote, pursuit of sedentary rapture, unquote, he asks me to go through his archive and choose poems and memories and reflectives for blurb-stuffing. So this is such. ---------- March 27, 1983 Mabel has gone home. In vain were my efforts to keep buoyant the honeymoon weekend. I will be the first - in this case, second - to admit that Wo...

Hi hi hi, draugai. Pfidze in presence. Because Mr Kettle is in quote, pursuit of sedentary rapture, unquote, he asks me to go through his archive and choose poems and memories and reflectives for blurb-stuffing. So this is such. ---------- November 15, 2012 - Post-Modern Haiku: Pathos, a prowler, Swiping the crown of rigour, Bathos is shiter. ---------- Thank you for this week. Hear from us again...

“Strange”. “Uncertain”. “Unprecedented”. In these touch-and-go times, such adjectives run rampant in the Tweets and tracts of twats and hacks. The cliché is nauseating. Yet one is assuaged by a conceptual anti-emetic - the cliché (like most) carries a crumb of veracity. Most arresting for moi has been the protuberance of Pfidze (not a fat thing). Where once she was a mere detail, an accessory, an...

A solitudinal shalom. At 11:14 a.m. on this Thursday which did just path, I was subverting gender expectations and multi-tasking*. My continuing foray into all things ‘Netty has eroded my capacity for mono-tasking. To simply sit down and be is, I fear, a praxis now forever lost to me. So, I simultaneously found (lost) myself completing a jigsaw puzzle on Facebook, listening to a podcast the subjec...

As I belatedly quaff the wonders of t’Internet, I find myself invariably ensnared in the videographic concatenations of YouTube. I have just watched an ostensible “symposium” of nominally “liberal” women repeatedly and unapologetically excoriate the “male gays”. Given the demographic of the coven and the particularity of their homophobia, one can only surmise a bitter caucus of Sapphic bigots. Whe...

The lights are dimmed. A hush descends. The drums roll. The spotlight pivots. A stage. A man upon it. He is returned. He is I - I, Jeremy Gage Kettle, CEO, CFO, CMO and Upload Technician of Funlimited Entertainment. The transfer of power is executed. When last we spoke*, I was “self-isolating” at the Hope High Castle hostel just off the Billham junction in Bracknell. My pet raven Bassett had snuff...

My name is Sam Rees. I'm one of three contributors to the Funfiltered podcast, the others being Eddie Boylett and Jordan Criddle. For the past two months, we have also functioned as the caretakers, cheerleaders, emissaries and vaguely assorted synonyms of the Funlimited Entertainment brand. We have presided over the company in a time of unprecedented human stupidity and global carnage (it’s almost...

Yo yo yo, hombres and wombres. Sam here. We could theoretically be possibly approaching the hypothetical end of lockdown perchance! Prohibition is almost at an end, perhaps! There’s a light at the end of the tunnel… although you’re unsure whether that light is real or just your birdshot chorioretinopathy playing up again. You don’t know. You never know. The pubs will soon be flooded with those who...

Hello, universe (fake it 'til you make it). Sam here. If my own mental process bespeaks broadly, you're probably in the mode of thinking that there won't come a time when Boris pops on the box and plainly announces it's time to unlock this -down. What started as a test of endurance will become a social experiment in obstinacy. The Guru keeps spurting increasingly incompatible proclamations - one b...

Hello. Sam here. The world is currently one or two things, depending on your bandwidth. Here's a third thing. Find within natterings vis-à-vis Beastie Boys Story, The Midnight Gospel and, inexorably, Doctor Who. Oh, and the worst cover of any song you’ve ever heard. We soil a legacy and stamp on a grave. We are shame. We are sorry.

Yo yo yo, Sam(uel) here. Welcome to the second edition of our audio-VISUAL (this is ALSO VISUAL!) spin-off, the Fear the Walking Dead to Funfiltered's The Walking Dead. I've seen nothing of the former and little of the latter so I hope the analogy stops just shy of this sentence. Once more, you are graced with a pixelated facsimile of Eddie to accompany his dulcet tones. The human with whom he doe...

Hey hey hey, Sam here. It honestly feels a bit weird having to write one of these blurbs. It's like driving someone else's car. I mean, I can't drive, but I imagine it's like that. Or wearing someone else's shoes. Even if they've been abandoned for some time, there's a psychic inference of warmth. And the sense that your feet might be corrupted, soaking up the steps of your predecessor via materia...

Hello. Sam here. For a limited time, we boys... no, MEN of the Funfiltered podcast are serving as custodians of the Funlimited brand. At the insistence of J-Ket, Eddie's recorded a chat with his dad. They cover topics such as growing up in the sixties, music and life in lockdown. We’re behaving ourselves with this spin-off. We’re clipping our wings, being conservative with our indulgence and being...

Day 2 within Day 51. It is three nights ago*. Day 48. The hour for hitting hay impends. With civic opinion of Bassett at base-level, he is aerobically hampered. I bid Pfidze to slink from her room pre-cockcrow and proceed cattily† to the raven cage - Bassett‘s in a no-flutter funk and his plumage must know the wind. Pfidze overcomes her adiposity and deftly abides. She untethers Bassett. He soars...

1978 – Betamax vs. VHS is in full swing. Pa places his chips on the former. This is promptly verified as unwise. Early 1980s – Flux and financial disarray. As his company transitions to VHS, Pa is fiscally compelled to relocate to a lesser domicile. Late 1980s/Early 1990s – Yours truly secures a senior position at KetMax Tapes through sheer dedication and donkeywork and if you think nepotism const...

Time seesaws in and out of focus. I am as an inebriate or a sober man with impaired vision. I am become articulate in the diameters of my pint-sized dominion. In an act of compassion or (likelier) manifest disquietude*, one of the detainees proffered a tape measure to subsidise my efforts. But, as I told Mrs. Absolam, such accoutrement of augmentation would be cheating. What did humanfolk do pre-I...

How goes it? You can’t/won’t answer. So let me punt a sit-rep your way. Sentience at the Hope High Castle is grimly benign. Virulent penetration is an implausibility. One hesitates to grumble but one displays awesome agility in vaulting to defend its inevitability, in doing so spawning the image of a human centipede of self, translucent wraiths evacuating and transmogrifying into meaty opacity, as...

Aloha from the citadel. Pfidze has satisfactorily recuperated, you'll be perhaps pleased to heed. Her infirmity has confined her to the Hope High Castle* hostel just off the Billham junction. As such, I have demonstrated pinnacle virtue in acquiescing and uprooting Funlimited Entertainment's base of operations. I have moored the FunlEnt ganglion in a prudently sequestered sector of the dining room...