Thursday, December 17, 2009

Top 10 Movies with Cows in the Title. Mostly.

Today, remaining fully committed to the blog, I've been wracking my brains for something to write.

I started off a post called "Stupid tee-shirts sicken my hole", which was about men who wear teeshirts with stuff like "Well, it ain't gonna suck itself" and "Tell your tits to stop staring at me" written across the chest. Apparently they think it's funny. I do not. But the post just got really, really ranty and bitter and scarily angry so I parked it in the drafts and will return to it some time when I haven't been drinking petrol and taking ecstacy.

Seeing as I am unemployed now and getting very anxious about it too, I thought that maybe a quick whistle-stop tour of all the jobs I've ever had, well, it might be interesting. I hold my hands up here though, I was wrong. It was singularly disinteresting.

Therefore, apropos of absolutely nothing at all, I've come over all Channel 4 and have been wondering to the point of distraction how to compile a list of the best ever films with cows in the title. But, dash it all to buggery, I can only get as far as nine before being forced to give up in a stage of high agitation. The magical tenth eludes me.

Yes. It is rather cheesy I know, but it's been too long since I did a cow-related post. And sure I just wanted to write something. So here we go, Top 10 Movies with Cows in the Title, please make suggestions for the tenth. I can't stand having a top ten with only nine in it.

1. Apocolypse Cow
Renegade army cows. Cows flying helicopters. One cow chasing another around the jungle. Martin Sheen and Robert Duval, dressed as cows. Marilyn Brando, the fat cow. You get the picture. 

2. Seven Brides for Seven Udders
Seven cow brothers with beards and check shirts, looking like lumberjacks, who each find wives all at once, which is unbelieveably jammy. The last-born cow may have gifts of healing the sick.

3. Raging Bull
Simple one here. A heavyweight boxer cow fights his way to the very top, battling personal demons along the way, chief of which was being forced to eat steak before big bouts. Some of the mince scenes were incredibly realistic.

4. Oh Brother, Where art Cow?
Very odd film all things told. I know the cows have a recording hit after they escape prison, cannot find proper hairdressing cream (Dapper Dan, you couldn't be doing with that Pomade shite) and strangest of all, one gets turned into a frog, and then at the very end, the nice folks at the ESB open the fucking dam and flood the place, the fuckers.

5. Bovine secrets of the Moo-Moo sisterhood
From the people who brought you The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants. I genuinely have no clue what it's about but I'll hazard a guess it's about a suburban sewing circle for cows who meet up for tea and gossip every week. And one of them produces contaminated milk and hasn't told her friends because of the shame that would spread through this idyllic American neighbourhood with manicured lawns, picket fences and girl scouts selling cookies.

6. Moo Velvet
I think this is a David Lynch one, with Dennis Hopper playing a cow with BSE to massive critical acclaim.

7. The Naked Gun Two and a Calf
Leslie Nielsen in another madcap outing as bumbling detective Frank Drebin. I'm keeping this one factual because I can't say anything stupider than it actually is.There may have been a bit where one cow compliments another on her beaver though.

8. Sergeant Heifer's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Beatles vehicle which of course makes us all think of the Volkswagen, but that was the one where Herbi(vore) the cow goes to Monty Carlow. Different movie altogether.  

 9. The Silage of the Lambs
Ok, ok, I'm really digging now and going slightly outside the established species parameters, but who can resist Sir Anthony Hopkins defining performance in this, his tour de force? "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti," he reveals, with the cannibalism being less startling than the fact that cows have a taste for a nice red, apparently.

10. ?
Monday, December 14, 2009

Status update

  • Still single. By choice. Girls are proving useful and thoughtful allies in this regard, giving me a very wide berth and stridently refusing to have anything sexual to do with me during this period of self-denial. I attempt to fall off the wagon very frequently but those girls, samartians that they are, just scoop me up, pop me back on it and hit the horse a fearsome wallop on the arse to keep me on the path of righteousness. Then they run off in the opposite direction. Very decent of them.
  • I am now a fully qualified and certified and official English Language Teacher. Yup. I passed the course. Never mind that everyone passes the course, I remain immensely proud of my achievements. "Terence McDanger, ELT. I sound like a toasted sandwich but I'm pleased to meet you anyway."
  • Moved back to Cavan and back to Dublin again, now living in a house share arrangement with the soundest couple in the world, ever. She cooks me dinners. She had me at: "Hungry?". I love them. They love me. And we shall continue our blissful lives in this, our house of love and harmony, until they catch me stealing their DNA as I attempt to clone them and keep them with me, always. Or when I reveal my bagpipe fetish. Yeah. It'll be the bagpipes where we come a cropper I shouldn't think.
  • Sold my lovely car and bought an old shitheap to keep me mobile in a cheaper, if markedly slower fashion. Kindly neighbours, no doubt seeking the approval of me, the new guy on Wysteria Lane, find and leave the fally-offy bits of it on the doorstep for me, in the manner of cats with dead sparrows. But it just took me to Waterford for a weekend's boozing and it made it there and back in one piece, and it's only marginally more surprising that I did likewise. The bonus is, I think it runs on the alcohol fumes from your boozy breath so it even saves on fuel.
  • I am still striving manfully to get the hell out of this country. I remain trenchantly indifferent to current affairs but even I know things are a bit shit so I've applied for a teaching position in Japan but won't know about it for ages. In the meantime, I've thrown my hat in the ring for a job as Bela Doyle's stunt arse on Fair City. They used to use his screen daughter's face but viewers started to notice, hence the, giggle, opening for a stunt arse.
  • I haven't changed a whit since I last blogged. I'm still a nefarious little bollix with designs on world domination, and also I still laugh at the stupidest things. For instance, I saw a roadsign for a town called Bunclody over the weekend and it suddenly struck me how sexy-sounding a place it is, because it sounds rather like unclothe me. Oooooh, take me to bed and Bunclod-me now, big boy. Bunclody me real good. And then take me down to Nobber in County Meath.
  • Listen, reader, I feel like we've had a really bad row and there's been this massive gaping fissure in our relationship and for the last few weeks I've been hanging around too proud and afraid to apologise and put this thing back on track. I genuinely feel bad about not blogging. Like, literally, because this place is like an emetic for me, it keeps me clean inside. When I don't write here some poor bastard has to listen to me issuing forth with my nonsense in pubs instead, and mine is not the sort of shite to be listening to when you're out for a few. "Here, what do you think of bluebottles, they're hoors aren't they?" says I. "Fuck off now Terence," says he, unsheathing a Samurai sword. "Just fuck off. And shut up about wasps and all."
  • I'm singing a lot lately. To the amusement of myself, the annoyance of others, in front of the mirror et cetera. Radge is my biggest fan and he loves it when I sing Tooraloora to him and tickle him behind the ears, making soothing whale-mating sounds. Try as I might though, I can't achieve my dream and sing Old Man River like Paul Robeson did. I just can't, you know, get under those low notes. The best I can manage is an unpleasant likeness to the bastard lovechild of Animal off the Muppets and Bryan Adams.  All things told, I'm really shite at being Paul Robeson. Pleasantly, I do a good impression of Chewbacca from Star Wars however.
  • There isn't really a whole lot else to say. It's not much after two months' sterility I know, but at least it's better than me turning out one of my epic War and Peace efforts that take up three pages. Anyway, for those of you still checking this page, I hope you're all doing well. For those of you not still checking this page, it's largely irrelevant what I wish for you as you won't see it, but I still hope you're doing well anyway. Pip pip now.