Catuminati

So... I've been away for a while. But, as always there's a very good reason for this. For the last 8 months I have been watching cat videos on YouTube. My findings are simple: All cats are members of the Illuminati and are going bring every human to their knees before establishing a new world order.

You probably don't know this, but there are a lot of videos of cats on the internet. I discovered this just after Christmas. So many videos, so many clues.
It was New Year's Eve and I had gone out dressed in a pink and yellow suit and a boater to inflict my oozing magma of ego on the unsuspecting streets of Hoxton . I got there at 11:00, but by 11:15 it had shat with rain, and my outfit made me look like a drab grims fairy hobo. All the friends I was out with labelled me idiotic and went into a club that I was refused entry to. I ended up sheltering for three hours under the small amount of cover from an outside internet café talking to a dog. I wanted to send an email, but I couldn't even do that because my money had all been stolen. By my friends.

I made it home just after 3am, totally pissed and horny. I decided, rather than do what I would usually do - smash the piggy bank and go for a 'Thai massage'- I would switch on the computer and try to send the email I had composed whilst sheltering to a woman I had been thinking about. I had met the girl once in a club toilet cubical I had accidentally walked into. Normally doing this results in me being kicked hard into the pavement, but on this occasion there had been a lot of pleasant stroking. I searched 'Sex Kitten' to try and find her. I remembered her wearing one of those kitten ear headbands, and I think we had a sex. I had forgotten that the internet is big.

A lot of god awful shit came up and I lost interest in the girl, so I ended up clicking on a video called 'how to sex a kitten'. Just how do you sex a kitten? I wondered. Turns out it doesn't matter, because they're all sexless reptilian overlords anyway. The video acted as a precursor to me getting sucked into a world of cat and kitten videos, each more sickeningly cute than the last, pulling me in, blanking my mind from anything other than fluff and claws. "cats are great" I thought, "cats and kittens represent innocence, playfulness, curiosity, all in a 30 second video clip". JUST WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK. On and on I went, selecting related video after related video. If this took me away from what my psyche wanted I just re-searched 'cyoot kittens' and carried on. I couldn't stop. The only part of my body that worked was my mouse hand. My eyes stayed locked, drinking in the cuteness and the mews. They stayed permanently open, causing a dry skin like glue to form over them. I was seeing all the kittens. All-seeing eyes.

When I snapped out of my trance I realised that 13 hours had passed. I had been sucked in to a void of feline hypnosis. I felt that I had been asleep but at the same time felt fatigued. I felt a sort of hungry tiredness, similar to the day I had spent being forced to chase clay pigeons in Surrey. I had to eat before I slept, and whilst the food stopped my mind from being sucked in again, I investigated YouTube with a sober mind:

The deeper you go on YouTube, the scarier it gets. Check out this video:

Mind reading. EVIDENCE

The thing that's abundantly clear to me is that cats are using YouTube to soften humans into a mush that can be distracted enough to miss something they would normally see clearly. It's obvious that they are mind readers, and it's obvious that what happened to me was a kind of hypnosis. I was just a test subject, but one day they will do it to everyone. Whilst we sit there staring into fur, they will kill the last remaining influential humans in the world and take their place as rulers of the world. THEN they can have everything they want. Presumably fish and sautéed mice. THINK about it - they do cute meows to imitate baby humans, they rub up against you to plant their scent on you and declare ownership, and they hiss at you to imitate snakes. They control and manipulate their owners, and they control and manipulate the world. They killed Michael Jackson, they put George Bush into power, they took him out, they put Obama into power and made Tony Blair go to war with Iraq. Not in that order.

It's all oooh awww coochie coo, then BAM - 9 /11.

The links to the Illuminati are easy to see when you think about it. The Illuminati uses the symbol of All-seeing, and it usually appears above a pyramid. We know from the olden days (probably at least a hundred years ago) that cats were worshipped by the Egyptians. They made statues and were buried with their cats. It was all out of choice, right? WRONG. They were fought by and eventually dominated by the cats, and when the cats eventually fell due to, I assume, some sort of human revolution that was wiped from historical records by you know who (cats), they were always going to return to power. This supreme manipulative prowess was revered by the Illuminati, and at some point they joined forces with feline (alien) counterparts.

 

People might say that cats are listening to water pipes, neighbours on other floors, or rodents navigating wall insulation. Some people too superstitious for their own good might suggest that cats see or sense ghosts, but what is actually happening here is that they are receiving orders from other high ranking Illuminati members through telekinetic cross dimensional signals.  The Illuminati are fools as well, however. They think the cats are working for THEM.

So anyway, now I limit my YouTube time because, although I'm sure it would be hard to be the last person on earth and have to fight them alone, I feel this would be a better fate than dying from lack of food and water due to permanent hypnosis. Am I right? ...It's OK, no need to thank me. 

Surkin and homo-erotica

So, here's the second music themed post from your favourite Soho bully.
Firstly, this is what I've been listening to recently:

Surkin was one of those artists who, in the past, I had never really got in to. The sound always seemed a bit to simplistic and the 'just noise':catchy tune ratio swayed too heavily to the former.


This album, USA, and to an extent the prequel - Silver Island EP from last year, are a big leap forward. The above track demonstrates it well. It's a lovely mixture of 80's electro beats and zapping sounds with a modern sheen, if sheen is the right word. If it isn't, shut up. This track is the most 'pop' sounding, so if it's a bit cheesy for you, maybe try this one:

Fireworks Hotmix  is more staccato and sounds almost like a SebastiAn track, but it's still got that playful 16bit sound. This one and INYN are the ones that remind me most of Megadrive games, specifically Two Crude Dudes; a game which contained both insane homo-erotica and a great soundtrack. It's a winning formula for all games, TV shows and films:

Anyway, the fact that it's in the form of a radio station adds to the feeling that it's a snapshot from another time or place. The whole album sounds like it was born in the 1980s then got blasted through to now, picking up pieces to be influenced by on the way. Come to think of it, that's probably just a description of Surkin himself... with 'growing up' instead of the blasting.


Talking of blasting... I've learnt some important news. Stay tuned.

I am music

I am Music.


This blog will now include music I like.


This is partly because I like music. And partly because it means I will update it more than twice a year... probably.


So anyway, the first thing I'd like to show you is this, the new (OK, it's been out for almost a month) Justice album - Audio, Video, Disco


Listen to some. There's a lot of crashing and buffalo:

I thought I would start with this album because all of you know I love Justice. All my fans. Friends. Family. Right? Anyway, I do. So, the first thing that struck me about this album is that it's clear that they have made an album THEY want to make. Not a second '†'. Not that anyone thought they'd make that anyway if they were honest, but I think people were still thinking that it would still have a lot of distortion and a very electronic sound. I remember when they released the single above  I saw a comment on iTunes from someone who said something like, "Oh my God, what the hell is this? I'm disappointed, it sounds like some old prog rock group", and I thought, well yeah, that's probably EXACTLY what they wanted it to sound like. Remember, the old Justice album art was influenced by an old T.Rex album after all:

But anyway, I like the album, it's got a unique quality to it, and as with most Justice music, is expertly made. You can hear new little details and layers every time you listen to it. I like that they've started messing around with guitars, I like the sing-a-long feel, I like the fact that it feels like it doesn't really belong in this time or place, considering what most 'electronic' music is like these days. (I put electronic in inverted commas there because I know I implied earlier that it wasn't really electronic, but to my mind, Justice are still an electronic 'dance' act. (I put dance in inverted commas there because the word dance covers a fuckload of different artists.))

If you like Justice's old stuff you might like it, if you like prog/stadium/cheese rock or however you'd describe it, you might like it too... I'm not sure it's as good as † though.

The one thing I do get annoyed about though is that Ed Banger records albums tend to take an AGE to finally get released, so it's hyped up to obscene, unrealistic levels and you're expecting everything to tear you a new arsehole. But hey, it's not like I'm ever really disappointed.

Apart from that Uffie album.

Jeez, that's for another time.

Travel Emotion

People say "Oh, Jaymz T Wildz, oracle and idol of my life, why is everyone in London in a rush all the time?". We're not in a rush, we just want to get to where we're going before our sun slowly ends it's life and explodes, killing us all. Or maybe we just want to be away from a place that requires close contact with you! Move that buggy. Your businessman gut offends me. There's no room on this carri- Oh but you thought you'd squeeze on anyway. I hope your stupid fat head gets caught in the doors. Why do you need such a massive bag? Stand on the right! Stop being so fat! Stop dawdling! If you're going to eat KFC on here can you do it whilst you AND the food are in a sealed box so I can't smell the stench of death and MSG? Oh and make it opaque so I can't see you shovelling. It's too cold for shorts today. Why would you wear a jumper on the Victoria line you idiot? Stupid Victoria line, why are you an oven?! Alright poser? You think you're cool do you with your perfect haircut? Fuck you. Um, we're 100 ft underground mate so how about taking your FUCKING sunglasses off. Get out of my way out of the way get OUT the way MOVE!!

I get angry when I'm moving and I hate people.

Sometimes I think its a sort of physiological phenomenon, that the more I actually move my body, the more annoyed I get. But then I realise it only happens when I'm on public transport. Public transport meaning any place where other people are using it to move. A pavement counts. A supermarket counts. People + moving = anger. When I stop my anger dissapates. If a tube train stops in a tunnel, despite the mild annoyance that I might be late for, no doubt, an appointment at Soho House, I become more relaxed. Maybe It's because everyone else becomes more frustrated. There's something nice about seeing people you don't know become angrier than you. It makes you feel superior.

I see myself as an old man and I can't move without causing irreparable damage . A visitor brings my food to a table and as I lean forward to reach it I become angry and tell everyone to "just die". My minder kindly explains that you have to put it within 4 inches of my hand but "he likes his independence so DON'T EVER TRY TO FEED HIM!". They have to make this point Brita clear ever since the Cheddar Gorge trip. I'm in a wheelchair now, not because I'm unable to walk but because if I do I might get annoyed and punch wildly and unpredictably. I move occasionally just to trick other people into getting punched. Sometimes the air that's generated when a person passes in a hurry sets me off. I trip them up and hit them with my cane.

Perhaps if I was more calm, I could deal with this. Calm the fuck down. Be a better person.

But I can't.

Robbie Williams' last day at Sainsbury's

I caught up with Robbie at the in-house bakery. He was having a sniff. "I can smell the nutmeg." He said with an air of achievement. "How can you tell it apart?" I asked. He chuckled his signature chuckle and looked over to the toilet roll aisle. "Let's just say I used to smell it a lot." He turned and locked his eyes onto mine. "Come."

I'd been working for Sainsbury's for a couple of months by this point. I suddenly had a realisation while buying oranges that using the self-service machines trained me to be a checkout attendant. In fact, it made me realise that I was natural and that this was my dream career. At least for the next few weeks. I tried to limit the time I thought about how self-service machines might make everyone think they were made for checkouts, or that they virtually eliminate the need for more attendants. I picked up an application form, and within a matter of days I was part of the team.

Robbie walked through the shop patting various items like he was praising a faithful dog. Eventually we got to the frozen food aisle and he stopped at the ice-cream, placed both hands on the freezer and leaned in to smell the cold. "It's my last day," he said "and I'm not sad. Well, I'll miss the people. You, and Sally who sleeps in the toilet roll... We fucked of course." I nodded.

" Where are you going?"

" TT asked me back; Wasn't working without the Rob meister."

" Really? I thought Take That were already making a really successful comeback?" He looked at me like I didn't know what Heat Magazine was.

"They were doing alright, but they were missing out on approximately 44% of our original fan base."

It was the evening shift. I was doing time away from the checkouts and we basically had to stock shelves until 11. Robbie told me that he usually did the late night shifts to avoid any confrontations with fans. Sometimes it was fun he said, but there's only so many times you can take someone screaming 'I love you'.

He started to walk again, urging me to follow him. We obviously weren't doing any work, but we seemed to be getting away with it. When I was with Robbie it was as if everyone was working for him, even the customers. 9:30pm on a Tuesday isn't the busiest of times, and most people were convincing themselves they hadn't just been passed by two major cultural figureheads of the mid nineties wearing blue and orange fleeces. We stopped again in the meat aisle.

"Have you ever punched a man with a slab of beef?" asked Robbie. He said it like I might have, but I think he had mistaken me for someone else. I told him no, but he had already become disinterested and was staring at a packet of salmon.

He threw it over the shelf and again we moved away. He toured us through most of the store asking me questions about Kettle Chips and avocados. He slowed as we got to the soft drinks aisle, and seemed calmer. He grabbed a two litre bottle of Lucozade off the shelf and started to drink it. His first gulp drained at least half a litre. His relaxed state was even more prominent now, so he sat on the floor and beckoned me to join him.

"Grab a Lucozade." he demanded. I took a smaller bottle from the shelf.

"I don't think we're allowed to drink the stock, are we?"

"Get a bigger one and stop being a pussy."

"Ok, but I only need a small one."

"Fine...I suppose I often forget how much a normal person drinks." He gave me a look from the corner of his eye that heavily suggested that he wanted me to ask him what he meant.

"Do you drink a lot th-"

"-Fuckloads. Not so much now though. Used to do ten to twenty litres a day. Anyway, do you want to know why I'm getting back with those losers or not?"

I didn't.

"Um, yeah I thought you and Gary had some sort of feud.”

Robbie sighed and looked at the floor. Then he took another swig of Lucozade.

“Yes.”

“Over song writing or something?”

“It wasn’t about that!” Robbie threw the almost empty bottle of drink at the opposite shelf. “I’ll tell you what really happened, if you think you can take it.”

I did. “It’s pretty far out.” He looked at me, then around to check no one was looking. Then he said the words that were the last I had expected.

“We were abducted.” I stayed silent. Now I was interested. I wanted to give him some space to elaborate. “It was January 3rd 1996. By this point we were at the height of our fame. I felt like Jesus….maybe I was. We’d been drinking. Hadn’t stopped since new years eve really. Gary and I had just been chucked out of a club we’d been at with the rest of the band. I think we got removed for showing our cocks too many times. Anyway, we were walking down the street arm in arm like. It wasn’t gay. We were just holding each other up. Then we felt this light behind us. Felt it before even seeing it. It was so bright and hot, but gentle at the same time, like a subtle fire. By the time we managed to look around it had consumed us and knocked us arse over tit onto the pavement. As everything went dark I looked over to Gary and he mouthed the words ‘We're so fucked.’

When we woke up we were in a bright clean room. I think most of it was Ikea stuff. All the surfaces were covered in pulsing lights. I was tied to a chair and this tall figure was looking at me from across the room. It walked over to me and became more in focus. It was a beautiful man. Almost exactly like a human but sort of godly. Had bigger features and this glow. Big eyes too. In fact, it looked like Simon Cowell would look after you'd been tripping on nutmeg."

"Which I assume you were doing."

"Um, no I don't think so, not that night. Anyway, I was looking at this thing and it said to me 'we've selected you as two of the most influential people on earth.' I heard this cackle and realised that Gary was tied to a different chair and we were sitting back to back. I'd sobered up pretty sharpish by this point, but he still seemed off his Britney. 'We want to take you to our planet' it said. Told us that basically they didn't have music on their planet, and if we came with them we'd get treated like kings as long as we made great tunes. At this point I hadn't even written Angels. Kings! It's everything I'd always wanted plus more, which is what I'd always wanted. More...."

"So why are you working at Sainsburys?"

"Because my stupid psychiatrist said I had to get back in touch with real life and real people. Some bullshit about mistaking the things in my head for the real world, as if it isn't. 'You forget what you think, Robbie'. I mean, what the fuck?"

"No, I mean why are you still on this planet?"

"Well, they said they wanted something in return you see...the Crown Jewels. Of course, I said that was fine. We'd get them nicked and be back within a few days. Gary was a bit quiet about it but I just assumed he was still pissed. So anyway, they probed us and played with our balls a bit and we left. The next morning I woke near where we'd been taken up near some bins, but I didn't care about that, or the hangover or the sore arse, because I was so excited. Then..." Robbie looked up at the fluorescent lights, trying not to cry.

"I told the boys immediately. I was going to need them for the crime bit after all. But then Gary turned up and started moaning 'Oh we were drunk, was probably just something we imagined, we probably just got bummed by some tramps.' blah blah fucking blah. He properly dicked up everything ‘cos they started to believe him and not me. This was when it all started to go downhill and Gary and I had a lot of arguments...then I left...And became a fucking superstar of course."

Robbie seemed a whole lot calmer now. He had downed another two bottles of Lucozade by this point, and it looked like an emotional weight had been lifted.

"I couldn't say anything about that night for years, it made me too angry. I started getting into U.F.Os, and I told people about that as you may know, but now I have a master plan. Gary and I made up - I did some lying. Now we're a super group again we're gonna infiltrate the Monarchy without Gary or the other boys even realising what I'm doing. First the Royal Variety, then Wills and Kate's wedding. I'll have the Crown Jewels soon, mark my words. Then I'll go back to that alley in Soho."

“Do you think you’ll ever come back to earth?” I asked.

“Probably not. Depends on whether they offer to make me king here. And we both know how likely that is.”

Robbie stood up and held his head and his stomach, then burped for what seemed like an eternity at a colossal volume. I asked him whether being back in Take That might keep him on the straight and narrow again, and help limit the nutmeg and Lucozade he consumed. He popped open a bag of prawn cocktail crisps, stuffed a handful into his mouth and nodded. Spitting crisps everywhere he mumbled "Definitely."

But we all saw him on The X-Factor.

The Urban Bear Grylls

For the last 6 months I've been living in a south London squat with no real bedding, no kitchen, and worst of all, no internet. I lived with a few other people who came and went. Most were stoned, some were into the higher classes, and all were obsessed with sex. It's taken me weeks to get clean, but now I'm living in a shared flat above a cocktail bar. I re-met a friend who saved me in exchange for some professional services.
In the time I lived rough, I met a lot of interesting people, but most helpful was Dave Suiter, a man who lived in the squat for just a few weeks. He eventually left because he said he had 'conquered' the area, and was "a bit like Seasick Steve, in that he couldn't live in the same place for a long period of time, but 'cooler'. Dave was known, to himself at least, as 'THE URBAN BEAR GRYLLS'. He used to stand up every time he said his name and announce it. It was funny to watch him do it whilst in a K hole. I'd seen him asleep on a sofa a few times, and shouting through the doors, but I hadn't met him properly until a night when I was very hungry. I hadn't got out of bed (sleeping bag) all day. The night before I'd spent my money for the weekly shop on a bet I had with a man in the street who bet me he could remove both of his eyes. I stood to win £50 if he couldn’t, and I was right, but by the time he’d finished squirming about, I found myself down an alley being mugged by two of his mates.
Anyway, I’d resigned myself to staring at the ceiling that evening, when Urban Dave came in and asked if I was hungry. I moaned as few words as I could to explain I had no money.
“Damn, I wanna get fucked!” He shouted and punched a door.
“Well go then!” I retorted.
“I need a partner or it’s gonna cost. You either come, or I stay in, stay sober, and wank. In this room. The ball is in your court.”
“I have absolutely no money.”
“It won’t cost you a thing, son. I don’t get called the URBAN BEAR GRYLLS for nothing.” He shouted the name as explained.
“Do they actually call you that?”
“Come on pricktears, I can get you food beer and vag without spending a penny.”
Once we were outside, Urban Dave switched to tour guide mode. I kept telling him that I lived here, but he just blasted through.
“The thing is about the streets, is that you gotta be quick, and you gotta be an opportunist. Shit gets cleaned pretty quick round here.”
He stopped.
“Ah ha, our starter!”
He bent down and picked up a discarded Metro newspaper, tore off the front page and started to eat it.
“I’m having the best bit, sorry.” He passed me another page.
“I…think I’ll be ok without.” I said.
“You would not believe how much food actually gets caught on or inside a Metro, son. People leave their burger grease on them, all sorts. Plus, the paper itself is great roughage. Try it.”
I got the feeling that if I didn’t try some, he would probably keep on at me for approximately forever, so I crumpled an A4 sized scare story about rapist bin men into my mouth and tasted the ink.
He then jumped onto a bus and took me with him. Before sitting down, he held his wallet up to an Oyster reader and made a beep sound with the corner of his mouth, winking at me.
“Where are we going?”
“Central, of course!” He barked.
The next thing I knew we were off the bus and down an alley looking for a main course. Dave was rummaging through a skip, throwing out a selection of half-finished pizzas.
“Skips are obvious…obviously. But the movement has been towards supermarket skips. People think they’re clever cos the food is pretty much fresh. It’s bollocks, of course…Well, it’s true, but this-” He held up an onion ring. “This is actually nice. Oil! It’s got oil, and that’ll line your body to keep you warm and stop you getting hungry.”
Dave seemed to have his own personal approach to scavenging, quite like Bear Grylls, I suppose. I was also about to find out how similarly disgusting he was, too. After tucking into the cleanest piece of margarita Dave offered me, I looked up to see him grinning and staring down at the floor beside the skip. He bent down and picked up a discarded condom. Used.
“Aaahh, a little life saver!” He held it up between our eyes, and we both stared at the ancient sheath. “When you’ve been on the streets in the summer, these little babies can be the difference between life and death in a storm. Thirst quenching with bags of Protein” Dave obviously noticed my absolute horror at this preposterous statement, because he swiftly dropped the condom. “Anyway, we have a much better liquid pudding waiting for us. Follow me.” And with that, he ran further down the alley, which opened out into a number of little routes. I tried to keep up with him in the dark, slipping on slimy cobles of old streets.
We came out almost in the middle of London, near the Strand. Dave slowed and walked up to an old red building. ‘Picadilly Rly’ was tiled onto the front, and two large doors at the bottom were covered in old posters and graffiti. A disused underground station.
Dave took me around to a side door and punched in a code to an aged electronic pad that looked broken. He flinched away as the door buzzed.
“Shocks,” he said “It did me once - never again, son.”
Distant basslines echoed dully from beneath. Dave confidently breezed through the ticket hall to a lift with concertina gates, called it, then promptly decided it was worthless, with a swift punch to the buttons.
“Stairs!” he shouted, and quickly led me down the spiral staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs the corridor led to a platform full of people. A stationary train had a table across each open door, creating a bar longer than any I had previously seen, even in the Long’en, a Soho bar which was open in 2002 for 4 months. Everything was long, and everything was a euphemism. No wonder it failed.
“This is an Aldwych Act Party,” announced Dave. “And this, is Pango.”
A fat man emerged at the bar and shook my hand without me even realised I’d raised it.
“Welcome. When was the last time you worked?” he asked in soft, well spoken tone.
“Um, I’m getting a bar jo-” I replied.
“-No, I mean acting wise.”
“He’s not an actor.” Dave rightly assumed. Pango gave Dave a look as if he had brought his sex pest brother to a teenager’s birthday party.
“I know, I know, but he’s still unemployed. Plus, he writes a blog.” I was beginning to wonder what this place was. Everyone spoke very loud, and they talked to each other like they needed, or were offering, a blow job.
“Oh, well that’ll do…plus you have the perfect chaperone” I looked at Dave, and he immediately turned smug, holding out a hand with fingers splayed.
“Five episodes of The Bill in the mid nineties.”
Cogs turned in my head brain.
“So-”
“Everyone here is an out of work actor, dancer, whatever.” Pango interrupted, as if I was a tiresome kite that just won’t fucking pick up.
Dave told me about some of the people that surrounded us. Some had been in soaps, some did sex education shows on Living, and some even worked in films. There was one girl who had been splattered with fake blood in the re-make of Dawn Of The Dead. Pango actually had one of the most interesting stories. A year ago he had the chance to act as Eddie Murphy’s stunt double, until he was shunted out by Murphy, who decided he wanted to play all the parts at the same time in each scene that was filmed, in one continuous shot. The producers quit and the film never happened.
“But, if everyone is out of work, who pays for the booze?” I asked. The two of them chuckled and pointed in unison to the far end of the platform. I could see the back of a very blonde head, with several others swooning around him. I moved closer to see whether my suspicions were correct. As I did so, the man turned around and I could see for sure that the bulk was our mayor, Boris Johnson. He was scoffing a sandwich like a pissed monkey, and smiled when he saw me.
“Jaymz! How are you my dear boy?” he blurted, sandwich flying “Marmalade sandwich?”
“You…organise these?”
“Of course! How do you think I got in? You give a little….”
“You targeted out of work actors?”
“Nothing attracts creatives better than free wine” he replied, then chortled “This is how it happened!”
I took a bite of a sandwich and smiled in awe.

And finally

May. 1st, 2009
11:22 AM



I saw this lie on a website advertising bar.

Valencia contains a lot of beautiful architecture. There's Gothic Valencia, located more central to the city centre - Lions might like that, but the moment they stepped into the new city of arts and sciences complex they'd go fucking nuts. Lions hate modern architecture.

I met a lion once (Sergei) who told me that many years in captivity have shown him that humans, in the last few years, have become obsessed with smooth, soft lines. They don't like spiky things, especially teeth in the face apparently. Sergei said that in many lion communities they have a theory that this obsession with curves is rooted in their general fear of everything. He then ranted about advertising -how it adhered to this general fear and offered soft curvy things like bums and iphones to make people feel better.

Lions have lost hope in the human race.