October 22nd, 2012
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. AND IT LOOKED LIKE SILENCE!!!
Salutations fleshy ones, it is Disembodied Narratorbot X-15735 here again to give you a gentle laugh-sized portion of introductory text to the nation’s podcasting sweetheart, SILENCE! (the 36th installment).
In this episode the two humanoid presentertrons The Beast Must Die and Gary Lactus indulge themselves like a couple of schoolchildrenoids in a sweetshoptrix. Apologies – this is Narratorbot humor. Back home in neo-interspace v2.0 I am comedy legend.
ITEM – SILENCE! News – usual mish mash of second hand stories and ill-formed opinions yes sir.
ITEM – covering pulp pamphlets a-go go, such as:
Godzilla: The Half Century War by James Stokoe (TBMD immortalised plus tangential discussion of Mike McMahon), Zaucer of Zilk from AL Ewing & Brendan McCarthy (with tangential discussion of Sooner Or Later, Dare, Enigma and Mrs Thatcher), Daredevil, Hawkeye, Glory, Wonder Woman (Puns incoming – puncoming?), Justice League (Trevor!), Marvel Now Point One (Marvel WOW!), a discussion of the Curse of Man Vs Comics and continuity, and more more more (not really - Disembodied Narratorbot X-15735 cannot lie to the fleshy ones. It is not in his programming, no sir. Dissection of flesh one brains however…)
ITEM – Silent Question comes from bemulletted 90′s also-ran Captain Planet and answers involve Greatest American Hero, The Shadow, and Nick O’Teen (boo hiss no sir).
ITEM - Wowee such sexy big listening times for the fleshy ones! All so exciting, Disembodied Narratorbot X-15735 does not know what to do. It will think clean thoughts and apply the lotion… so please do be joining us for SILENCE! no.36 – hot buttons!
Click below for the SILENCE! Gallery…
September 28th, 2009
While flicking through the pages of Batman Year One in an effort to research my Batcave essay I paused, as I am want to do, on the pages where Bruce Wayne ventures into Gotham’s red light district. I feel now, as I have long felt, that I know those city streets: The neon gloom, the amphetamine air, the gaze of eyes it’s better not to catch. Coincidentally I’d recently listened to a show on Radio 4, presented by Suggs, on the history of London’s Soho and had been taken back to the early 80s and my visits to my Mother’s office, a television production company that specialised in music videos, that nestled on the edge of London’s red light district. I dreaded the inevitable few minutes spent under the glare of an arcade or sex shop waiting for a taxi or one of my Mum’s friends while the shadows of an adult world fell around me. Even behind the office walls I didn’t feel safe. Sometimes I overheard secretaries whispering about their sex lives thinking they were out of earshot or that the kid wouldn’t understand (I didn’t, but not in the way they thought). Then there were the alien artifacts that littered the rooms and staircases, the posters of rock concerts and the modern artworks that throbbed with a strange potential energy. But worst of all were the giggling men, who once or twice or perhaps more I can’t remember, offered me cocaine and cigarettes.