My contribution to the Kanye internet meme

Torriets, the Dark Knight of Twitter?

All hail this valiant Twitter subscriber.

Hark how he parodies the ephemeral nature of the site and its users' obsession with the cult of celebrity by employing the social networking medium itself as his tool.

Less learned readers may gasp at this moral knight's lewd application of the English language’s never-regions, but more fool them, for they fail to recognise this cloaked charlatan's higher aims.

By blaming a terminal psychological condition on his clearly pre-meditated prose he is aptly lampooning the banality and self-importance that plagues the post-modern era.

Only by using the sorid language of our kingdom’s feckless youth is he able to infiltrate the masses and mock the oblivious fools in their own native tongue.

On second thoughts, maybe he's just a ...

... the words elude me ...

The Beatles, and how over analysis ruins stuff

This week I've been thinking a lot about The Beatles. Decent remasters of all their albums will be made available on Wednesday September 9, prompting a week of BBC documentaries and countless articles in the press.

Despite my eagerness to hear the new revamps I have to admit that, having read a little too much on the project, I've emerged a little nonplussed from the experience.

The main issue is which version of the albums to get. Mono is how the original recordings were mastered and was the mop tops' preferred format. Stereo on the other hand, is how we're accustomed to hearing music, allowing the elements to be easily distinguished from each other.

In The Beatles case, however, some of the early stereo recordings are just bastardised versions of the original masters, sometimes slowed down, or with elements taken away to cater for the, then primitive, format. This issue has been occupying my inner geek for the past week. It's what guys who aren't in serious relationships think about.

Naturally I could discuss this topic in far greater detail but, in the end (Beatles reference intended), you have to wander whether over analysing things impacts on the enjoyment, especially when one of the reasons I love the band is because of childhood memories of listening to the original vinyls (sorry dad, it probably was me that wrote 'tOm's RecOrD' on the limited, numbered edition of the White Album).

Disregarding the fact that meddling little sprogs shouldn't be allowed near anything that doesn't have NASA construction standards, experiencing music as a kid was amazing, and all the better because things like structure, fidelity and stereo panning weren't dwelt on.

The same goes for film. One of the first movies I saw at the cinema was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. As a nipper I was oblivious to the fact that no Hollywood producer would ever fund a PG certificate movie in which Rick Moranis' hound relentlessly massacres a troupe of primary school children, and the experience was all the better for this ignorance.

Sure, it's great that I no longer fear waking up next to a giant stag beetle (though I've woken up next to worse *comedy drum smash*), but is this is at the sacrifice of fully appreciating the music of The Beatles? I'll let you know on September 9th.

Daily Mail reader clearly bitter

Keeping up with my sister magazines' titles really paid dividends this week after this glorious tidbit landed in my inbox.

The letter, a complaint about the carnal nature of Haribo Maoam packaging, perhaps stretches the Daily Mail's archetypal reader beyond credulity, but is worth reading in full.

Maoam says carnal wrapper complaint is genuine.

Not to shoot fish in a barrel, but the sender obviously caused quite the scene in his local newsagent, implying he assumed the shopkeeper had a duty to studiously examine every item in the store for offensive content.

"Sorry Martha, we'll have to bin all these tins of sweetcorn because The Jolly Green Giant is clearly struggling to stifle his ample pan handle."

Besides, if two fruits did find a way to procreate, I'd be all for it. The offspring of a strawberry and a mango would probably prove so tasty that I'd start hosting fruit orgy nights at my flat.

I can picture it now, me, strutting around in a Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, pipe in hand, as a nectarine and a pear furiously get down to business over a Sony remote control, giggling away like it's the most natural thing in the world. Which it would be.

Best headline gaffe ever?

An issue I regularly debate over a cup of tea with my Grandma.

Daily Express headline gaff.

In other news, a fate worse than watching Glasvegas live?

Girl trapped in Leeds Festival poo pit.