Everyone knows that Winston Churchill was one of the greatest Prime Ministers that Britain ever had. Many people also know he was an alcoholic. Some people know he was a wit. And a few know he was a painter of moderate talents.
But who knew he was a rapper?
Behold the wonder which is DJ Winston, as he and his crew get this dinner party started!
via Neatorama
Michael Jackson, the self-crowned King of Pop, is dead at the age of 50. Born an adorable, talented black boy, he died (apparently of heart failure, insert own bitter joke here) a bizarre creature somewhere between the aliens from Communion and Zombie Janice Dickinson, with a soupcon of pederasty for (as the kids say) flava. Alternately short of Money or Invincible, Black or White, Smooth Criminal or The Man, he remained a protean figure of scandal-scented mystery to his last days.
It’s just Human Nature to pursue a Pretty Young Thing, although his Monkey Business recreational tastes and pursuits brought him to the attention of the law on a regular basis. When finally confronted with the rap, he Beat It, claiming he and the boys were Just Good Friends who would Come Together in friendship. Known over the decades as a libel lawyer’s best patron (What More Can He Give?) when he felt Threatened, the eccentric musician had seemed in recent years to have turned around his notoriously aberrant behavior, although more cynical minds (like mine) figured that instead of pursuing free-range children, he’d just decided to grow his own: Blanket, Prince Michael, and Paris. Ah, the Lost Children.
I hope that, once his no-doubt vainglorious tomb is complete and he installed within it, Banksy can come up with something suitably memorable, although it’s hard to top that portrait. HIStory will judge him. Until that time, we have this, by DryHumourSteve:
His bones will given to the relatives of Joseph Carey Merrick
Banksy may or may not be a man; he may or may not be a collective; but he definitely IS my dream man (when you’re a communist, it doesn’t count as an orgy, it counts as “sharing”). Hey, it’s my dream, I can have what I want in it.
Not only did he give me my best-performing post ever, but he also just unveiled this:
Yes, he put the “MPs” into “Chimps.” But without Boris Johnson in the house, there’s a sad shortage of Bonobos to bring teh sex-ay.
Sadly, the truth is, none of them look like Johnny Depp; they actually look exactly like that guy that asked you for change the other day.
Oh, and it gets worse:
I don’t know what it is about this song, but it seems to inspire the greatest living sardonicists to greater achievements in sheer over-the-topitude than have ever been seen this side of Kadath Through The Looking-Glass.
First there was Kiki and Herb‘s heartrending story of transgendered love gone awry and tragic loss.
Now, there is dascottjr‘s Literal Version. Post-Post-Postmodern and deeply Eighties, it takes you behind the scenes, behind the hair gel and makeup, behind the blank expressions of the born-to-sing-not-act star and shows you the true meaning of this, perhaps the most iconic of all music videos.
Dancing Fonzie zombies FTW!
via azahar
Oh yes, there’s a Facebook page, of course.
raincoaster 