Neurologist plugs new book on Dreams: The Significance of the Himalayan Griffin Vulture and other Dream Symbols

The Himalayan Griffin Vulture at rest

 

Neurologist Raymond Gentzer has spent a lifetime recording and analysing  other people’s dreams. We spoke to him about his latest book revealing his findings.

 

RG:   It’s a tough job. After all, nobody likes to listen to other people yapping away about their dreams. They always go on forever.

Q:    Then why write a book about it?

RG:    Why else? People are suckers for the whole dream symbolism malarkey.

Q:   You sound a little jaded.

RG:   Do I?

(Gives bitter laugh)

Q:    What about your own dreams?

RG:    I don’t dream. In fact, I pay copious amounts of money to my therapist so that there are no unresolved issues troubling my subconscious.

Q:    Not even that one where…

RG:    No.

Q:    You know where…

RG:    No.

(He sneezes and a cascade of bubbles fly from his lips, floating away)

Q:    Tell us about the book.

RG:    Well, over the years there have been a small percentage of dreams which were interesting.

(Twirls long pink moustache whilst juggling a diamond corn-on-the-cob) I’ve collected them here.

Q:    Can you read us one?

RG:    Very well. It might sound familiar.

‘I dreamt I was in Gerard Depardieu’s house. I was there to collect some candles for another part of the dream. His bum was younger than his face. I followed Gerard up the stairs thinking it was quite strange that he lived on my street – I’d never noticed him round the local caf getting milk or anything. He had a nice house – lots of oak panelling. I felt under-dressed for the occasion. I was nude.’

This dream clearly indicates deep-set sociopathic tendencies…

Q:    Wait a minute! You put that in the book? That’s my dream!

 

Raymond has begun to hover a foot in the air whilst tiny rabbits gnaw his body, looking for earwigs made of hard rock candy. Suddenly, he, and the rabbits, are attacked by a hungry pack of Himalayan Griffin Vultures.

“It’s only a bloody dream isn’t it?” says Raymond resignedly, as the vultures peck at his bones.

Gerard Depardieu, fully clothed, undressing you with his eyes.

Olympian taken hostage

Caption: The Stormwanglers make themselves at home.

Lepido Rangus, the gold medal winning tri-bi-athlete (tri-bi-athlon: the event in which the athlete rides a horse through 7 feet of water, then shoots it, then uses the gun to pole vault over a trench filled with boiling oil, culminating in the final stretch which involves carrying 2 buckets of pebbles across a wavering tightrope) was surprised to find his mansion in Islington filled to capacity after his win on Saturday.

Caption: Rangus and his horse, the late Fingle Root Basket Bunny Drawers

In a bid to draw attention to their cause, The Stormwanglers, the art group responsible for the recent demonstrations against the Olympics outside the Olympic village, have set up a squat in the sporting icon’s home.

Crispin Flintbiscuit, the leader of the unruly bunch currently disporting themselves in Rangus’s living room, made free with his tea, raiding his rigidly ordered ‘carbohydrates cupboard’.

Q: So why the party atmosphere? Previous demonstrations have been violent and unruly.

CF: Oh, there’s nothing more violent than arriving uninvited in someone’s home and taking up residence. Trust me, this will hit the establishment where it hurts. An Englishman’s home is his castle and all that…

LR: Excuse me, are you…are you one of them?

CF: Ignore him. Can’t you see we’re conducting an interview here?

LR: An interview? (Brightens slightly, his look of confusion clearing a bit.) Is it about my medal? I can show it to you. Well, I’m wearing it. (Smiles shyly, pulling medal out from shirt.)

CF: Witness this disgusting display of the elitist artefact! With our country in a recession…! It’s a crime against humanity! And anyway it’s horribly gauche.

LR: (Looking sad) I suppose so. Can I offer you some er…tea? I’m afraid I only keep skim milk.

CF: Get out of my sight you scion of the lumpen troglodytes!

LR retreats to his room.

Q: Why did you pick on him? Surely Chris Hoy or Victoria Pendleton…

CF: Have you seen Hoy’s house? It’s a disgrace. Barely room to swing a cat, never mind 17 people. Besides, he had security. Here, I have room to spread myself. Rangus keeps Egyptian linen.

(There is a pause as he considers the pleasures of LR’s luxury bed sheets.)

Q: (Clears throat suggestively)

CF: Oh yes, and also about the er…barbaric nature of sport, of course…

Q: His sport is controversial; after all, the shooting of the horse is a terrible…

CF: No, any sport. It’s a barbaric waste of human resources and endeavour. If we could plough all that effort into art, which benefits everyone in so many ways, especially our latest project which only needs a tiny infusion of cash…a mere £50000 to get it off the ground…

Q: You’re protesting that there isn’t enough money going into the arts?

CF: No, I’m protesting that there isn’t enough to go into MY art.

At this, the party gets even more raucous with Lepido Rangus, weakly protesting, being carried along by a swarm of demonstrators into another room.

CF: You should leave. There’s some bacchanalian shit about to go down.

And with that he slams the door on the media. Shortly afterwards the weekly paper News Curl received a ransom note of £50000 for the beleaguered athlete. However, as Rangus himself was spotted in the local Sainsbury’s shopping for supplies, it is said to be doubtful that anything will come of it.

If you’d like to support The Stormwanglers in their demonstration against the Olympics, go to www.olympicssuckabigonegiveussomemoney.com

Playwright slams own work as ‘derivative drivel’

Artie Gimlet prepares for a night of light entertainment

Playwright Artie Gimlet’s new play, ‘Pretension’ has had fans flocking to the theatres.

“Everyone is hungry for irony these days. They’ll do anything to get a fix. Pretension is the perfect high for our generation of sneery scenesters who speak in dead sentences.”

Gimlet’s over-elaborate dialogue is delivered in a purposefully deadpan and uninterested tone, as the actors try on an endless series of Urban Outfitters clothing. Gimlet himself heckles them relentlessly from the orchestra pit, screaming, “Where is the music?!”

Actor Todd Winklebun spoke to us about developing the play.

TW:     At first it was pretty disconcerting. Especially when my mom joined Artie in ‘the pit of shame.’ Artie was pleased that she so deeply understood the concept but there’s a part of me that thinks she was still pissed about that time I trashed her car.

Q:        Do you think our generation has, and will, spawn a society of heartless automatons who are only as real as their latest Twizler update?

TW:    Um, I’m not sure how to respond to that. There are light hearted moments in the play. When my character tries on his seventh pair of low crotch skinny jeans he says, “I’ve seen things.” I like to think that whatever they were they were, they were nice things.

Notorious anti-capitalist artist takes big bucks from Oligarch

Early examples of the artist’s work, discarded for being ‘too tame’.

Enfant terrible Tony Macaroni has got himself a patron. He is known for his incendiary pieces of corruscating social commentary such as ‘Burnt Toast-taste the lies!’ (the faces of world leaders seared onto slices of Warburton’s), ‘Remind me to hate you’ (video in which he melts discarded Madame Tussaud busts) as well as anti-war protest piece ‘Colon Dreamscape’ which has been banned on the grounds of indecency.  He is also widely recognisable on the arts scene for his abrasive posturing and loathing for politicians, so Macaroni’s decision to accept financial support from a notorious billionaire has struck many as strange, with critics branding him a sell-out.

Q:  Rumour has it that you’ve been adopted by Russian Oligarch Steppan Izzinovavikovnavich as his personal artist.

TM:  (Nervously) Yes, so?

Q:  Doesn’t it go against your anti-capitalism, anti-establishment mores?
(Shifts uncomfortably)

TM:  Sure, some may say that it goes against every fibre of my being to accept the blood-rinsed cash of one of the world’s biggest parasites. I certainly wouldn’t, but some might.

Q:  Is it true that he keeps you under house arrest, forcing you to paint recreations of Whistler’s grandmother with his ex-wife as a model?

TM:  Those rumours are (largely) untrue. I could choose between Whistler’s Grandmother and Van Gogh’s ear. (furtively rubs ears) I would’ve had to be the model for that.

Q:  How do you respond to statements to (now deceased) housemaid Schvetlana Meerlubna’s claims that you begged her to get you to a government safe house when she found you cowering in the 18th ballroom at his estate?

TM: That’s errant nonsense. I love that ballroom. I hang out there all the time.

Q: Wearing a caviar-stained jester’s outfit?

TM: Steppan likes to get involved in my installation pieces. That one involves him hurling beluga at me while I flaggelate myself with a badminton racket. (Swallows) It’s fun.

Q:  About Steppan’s famous pack of dogs…

TM: (Starts to shiver uncontrollably) I don’t talk about the dobermans.

Q:  Are you working on anything now?

TM:  I’m working with Steppan on… (breaks down, weeps) listen, I just want to say that I take back everything I ever said about British politicians and capitalism. I was wrong, I see that now. If you could just tell the police…

Immediately two burly security guards rush in.
Guard 1: You upset Minion 502?

Q:  Er…

Guard 2:  No more talky talky!

As they drag the recumbent Macaroni out, he looks back at me silently mouthing, ‘SAVE YOURSELF’…

Rap star’s alter ego develops own alter ego

Hair reflecting life?

Rap singer Beebop KraZd has just released a sparkling new album (retail copies literally covered in mock Swarofski crystals) under her alter ego’s (a timid librarian called Floozi Malloy, with two foster children and a ‘badass policy on late returns’) alter-ego.

‘Funki Munk’, ‘a toi girl grinding her stuff in the Barbie house’ is said to be Floozi’s (aka Beebop’s) ‘plastic fantasy’.

Q: What led your alter ego to er…develop ‘her’ own alter-ego?

BK/FM/FM: Everyone was doing the alter-ego thing. Beyonce, Niki Minaj, Madlib…I wanted to express myself in a totally original way.

Q: Peeper magazine reported recently that you ‘talk in the voices of your different alter ego’s, sometimes even having arguments and fistfights’?

BK/FM/FM: Damn straight! Dem birches be getting all up in my grill. Funki Munk is always stealing my clothes…(expression changes) oh no you di-unt! You did not jus accuse me of stealing my own clothes! (voice change) now ladies, let’s have some propriety, you know I don’t like loud talkers…(voice change) shut yo mouth bitch!
(Argument becomes increasingly heated until BK/FM/FM pulls out a diamond encrusted bb gun and starts pistol whipping herself)

Manager Lick Flange steps in.

LF: Break it up ladies… (ushers star out) My God, it’s exhausting.

Q:  Do you see any danger of Beebop losing credibility with her fans as a result of outbursts like this?

LF: Oh no. The crazier the better as far as alter-ego’s go. I think its s great way for them to let off steam from all the pressure of being a celeb. You should hear the sort of shit ‘Sasha Fierce’ gets away with. You think it was Eminem who assaulted his ex wife? No, that was ‘Slim Shady’. These days they all have therapists telling them to use these a-e’s as a ‘mask to explore their deepest fantasies’.

Q: These are people who can afford to bathe in a solid gold bathtub full of beluga caviar whilst having naked dwarves hoola hooping and juggling bags of money….?

LF: That stuff’s old news man. Tired and boring. The new thing is airing your psychological laundry in public. That shit never gets old.

Q: What will happen if Beebop’s alter-ego’s alter-ego develops an alter-ego?
(a huge pause)

LF:  That’s some deep shit you’re talking about. But if anyone’s crazy enough to do it…

Beebop KraZd aka Floozi Malloy aka Funki Munk’s new album,”Crank my bitch funk” is out now.

Ventriloquist sticks hand up own bum

Bertie and his dummy, in happier times

Bertie Nosewhistler succumbed to the grim financial climate by having to pawn his trusty dummy a few weeks ago.

“Actually he was a foul mouthed little git so I wasn’t too sorry to be rid of him. My psychiatrist told me he was a grim expression of my matricidal tendencies. So he tended to be a bit of a downer.”

With necessity being the mother of invention Bertie has cut out the middle man (or dummy) in an unusual way.

“The audiences love the new show. They’re always surprised the first time they see it.”

Critics have been unstinting in their praise, describing Nosewhistler’s performance as ‘mindboggling’, ‘both terrifying and strangely satisfying,’ and ‘like a car crash you just can’t look away from.’

Agent Tommy Schnitzel says, “I think this show has legs. We’re thinking of taking it to Vegas next year.”
Dr. Abel Enabler (DIPdap, BMad), his Psychiatrist says, “Although this success can’t fail to bolster Bertie’s low self esteem, he has to watch that his negative manifestation ‘the dummy’ doesn’t become a part of him, effectively turning inward.”

“Because otherwise I might become a raging maniac,” Bertie giggled.

Q: How did you come up with the idea?

BN: I was loitering listlessly around the old bedsit looking for something else to pawn when I remembered my years as a contortionist at Rigley’s Circus. I thought to myself, Dang it! That’s the answer! And never looked back. Well, except of course to…

Q: Quite.

Bertie’s Bum and his Magical Hand, is playing at the Barking theatre. Children welcome.

 

"Horror? Or lust? It's such a thin line," says Bertie.

Formaldehyde Fake revealed: Herring keeps twin in basement

The trapdoor leading to Herring's basement prison.

Dermot Herring, whose groundbreaking pieces involved placing a chartered accountant in formaldehyde, has today been found to be a fake.
The true author of his work was revealed this week to be none other than his twin Colin Herring, whom Dermot apparently, ‘kept chained in a basement for the past 15 years’, the same period over which Herring’s star first began to rise in the arts world.

Pale and traumatised from the experience, Colin stated to police and assembled press that, “Dermot threatened to put me in a formaldehyde bath if I didn’t work for him like a slave.”

Dermot’s (or rather, Colin’s) work with people who donated their bodies to the Herring Trust, has become legendary, reputedly earning Dermot a fortune.

“Sometimes he would torture me by forcing me to watch him writhing naked on a bed of gold bullion,” said Colin, speaking from a police safe house.

“When I first suggested the idea of placing different things in formaldehyde, he scoffed in my face, but we did it for a laugh. Next thing I knew, I was locked in the basement…it wasn’t all bad, he let me have satellite TV.”

Dermot has issued the following statement through his lawyer, Jacob Twist (of Bend, Twist and Pullem):

“While my client does not deny incarcerating his twin, he emphatically denies using threats to get him to work. As far as the gold bullion is concerned, that was a present from Sheik Ali Yuksak (for placing his 3rd wife in formaldehyde) and it has no bearing on this matter.”

It is feared that the Herring ‘masterpieces’ will now seriously decrease in value.
“Who is this Colin?” spat Sheik Ali Yuksak. “Dermot I trusted, and now I hear that this Colin, this nobody, handled my 3rd wife’s delicate parts?! Dermot partied with me and JZ on my yacht, he’s like brother to me. A brother who took my gold bullion and did unspeakable things with it.”

While the case continues, buyers of Herring art are reportedly trying to offload their pieces as fast as possible. An insider at Sotheby’s told us, “People are finding it difficult to sell these pieces. ‘A minor civic servant,’ once valued at £3 million, sold yesterday for £2.50, and the owner was grateful to get that price. After all, it’s hardly as if the local council will take it away with the recycling.”

The Oscar Speech Meryl Streep never gave

The celebrity audience has mixed reaction to Noni flashing her breasts

In a bizarre Oscars speech, actress Noni Gibberwelt, despite insisting that she is not bitter, cleared the decks of her former life as a cocktail waitress.
Now an Oscar-winning screenwriter and actress, Noni’s acceptance of her award was unusually caustic.

“There was a time when I might have said, “Hah!” All you bad tippers, you late night booty-callers who never answered the phone when I needed you. I’m talking about you Ray Vaudvilke. No, I’ve been brushed with the loofah of success…

(Kisses statuette)

…and I shake you off like flaky skin calluses. I might have said, “Pah!” to you Robbie Blitzkin. Back in high school, I bet you never thought I’d grow into this bod or have such great hair! And you, Falco Ripwheedler, who told me my poems were average and overtly melancholic, so you couldn’t possibly publish them. Do you see the Oscar I’m holding?! No? Oh, right, you’re in your mouldy old bedsit back in Blighty. And what about you, Prof. Junkweilder? If I was still bitter about getting a C- on all of my papers after I wouldn’t let you fondle my breasts …Yup.

(Flashes breasts)

These puppies – savour it. Oh wait, that’s the closest you’ll ever get. To any woman. And then there’s you, Milton Moovil. Ah, Milton. You’re so lucky that I can now afford the best therapy money can buy. I’ve learnt to look past the years of drudgery when I stifled my own talent in order to work three jobs to support your career as an “interpretive dancer.”

By sleeping with that little slut from RADA you set me free to become the (let’s be honest) MASSIVE success that I am now. If I was bitter. But I’m not. So I dedicate this award to all the wankers from my past. Grist, mill, water under the gold-plated bridge.”

Then, as the audience sat in stunned silence, the actress moon-walked off stage.

Shockwaves as Justin Bieber found to be only 2 foot tall

Justin Bieber with Rihanna - the 3 boxes he's standing on just out of shot

Hundreds of Biebettes were cast into despair amidst recent revelations that the pop behemoth is actually more of a midget.

The pint-sized singer and his team have been using a complex series of mirrors to create the illusion of height.
“Even then they only managed to make him seem 5.5 ft,” said celebrity insider, Mink Muffty. “They’ve closely monitored his TV appearances using step ladders and boxes, and at live performances people just thought he was further away than he was. Much further away. With teeny, tiny doll-like dancers behind him.”

Worse news was to come. The star, thought to be pre-pubescent, is actually 35-years-old.
“He uses the same special effects make-up team as George Lucas with the Star Wars movies. I bet you thought Anakin Skywalker was a 7-year-old. Guess again,” said Muffty.
As legions of young women tore their hair and rended their garments, the unrepentant Bieber issued a defiant statement.
“I regret nothing. In fact, I’m glad the truth is out. And ladies, I can still reach the important stuff. Come to Daddy!”
“I can’t believe I used to think that was cute,” said Muffty.

Critic finally bucks trend and directs film

Movie poster for Tar Babies from Galazkapan

Esteemed critic Brent Durwood jeopardised his career by writing, starring in and directing a feature film, Tar Babies from Galazkapan.

“I was tired of writing reviews and having the directors, actors or writers tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about…the old adage, ‘those who can’t do, critique’ was constantly being thrown in my face. So I decided to put my money where my mouth was and produce an ‘outstanding work of staggering genius’ as my friend and fellow critic Zac Hooverball from the Daily Bleat put it.”

At once surreal and futuristic, the review boards and critics seem to be (apart from several known friends of Durwood) at a loss for words.

An insider at the Telegum whispered, “Of course no journalist wants to touch it. He’s done what most of us only dream of doing. To quantify how good or bad the film is would be to admit that there is a reason why some people are artists and some people say mean things about artists. The whole system would be thrown into disarray. Chaos would ensue.”

We caught up with Durwood at the launch party for the film, at which very few journalists were present.

Q: Why do you think most journalists have been so reluctant to comment on your new film?

BD: First things first. What did you think of Tar Babies?

Q: ……I thought the use of real babies covered in tar was a controversial choice.

BD: Yes, well one has to make those sorts of choices when creating a film that aspires to be more than your run of the mill Hollywood pleasing schlockbuster.

Q: The film appeared to straddle a number of genres…

BD: (Nods head vigorously) I used my encyclopaedic knowledge of cinema. I think you’ll find that Tar Babies is the only film which embodies every genre in the history of movies.

For instance: babies covered in tar – they do that in some parts of the world to albino children – documentary. It’s set in another galaxy…

Q: Galazkapan?

BD: No. That’s the planet. (Awkward pause) Science fiction.

Lead character Blane Jawbone has to shoot his way out of the Eliptikon stronghold – Action/adventure. The female lead, Jane Bustworthy, is a feisty non-conformist from a military background – Feminist/war movie. I could go on…

Q: An ambitious project. Would you say that it has left critics somewhat at a loss?

BD: I can only imagine that the piece has proved too challenging for them to grasp. Although I think they’ll find my next film Cat Burglars from the Eternal Beyond easier to swallow. I let myself have a little more fun with it. Once Tar Babies breaks all box office records as an outsider-crossover success, the pressure to prove myself as an actor/writer/director/auteur will be over.

Finally, I’ll be able to make the films I always longed to see.

Q: Will you be using real cats?

BD: Oh, yeah.

Tar Babies from Galazkapan will be playing at the Rickety Theatre in North London for a limited time only.