Podcast: How’s the coronavirus going transatlantic? MMR’s Captain America, Ben Diamond, joins Robin and Sean to talk bleach cocktails, half-naked Zoombombers and ancient aliens. Contains fruit.
Like you, I am holed up in my flat for the remainder of this pandemic. But unlike my thousands of Facebook friends, millions of followers and three loyal readers, I am thrilled by this situation!
Thanksgiving. A time to reflect on all we have … food, family, friends and football (the one played with hands). I don’t actually watch football (either kind), but lots of Americans watch it on Thanksgiving weekend and it begins with an “f”, so I added it to the list.
Podcast: It’s a jungle out there as MMR goes transatlantic with Sean and Ben in New York and Robin in Brexit Britain. Is there any escape? Are these celebs celeb enough for I’m A Celebrity … Get Me Out Of Here!? We explore the meaning of fear. And the Duke of York. It’s a blockbuster! Contains nuts.
Research shows that smell, touch and taste are strong evokers of nostalgia. Marcel Proust’s cookie broke in 1913 and it caused him to write seven ridiculously long and unreadable volumes.
As a young boy, I went to camp with Jeffrey Epstein. I want to disclose that the Jeffrey Epstein I went to camp with, befriended, and shared a bunk bed with was not the same Jeffrey Epstein who committed suicide over this past weekend.
Thank you British films and British actresses. Thank you Lily James and Felicity Jones and Kate Winslet and Emma Watson and Keira Knightley and you too, Audrey Hepburn (born in Belgium, but British to me).
Here’s my burning question for Theresa May: Where are your balls? You’re an outgoing Prime Minister with absolutely nothing to lose and absolutely everything to gain, including your dignity. And you do nothing!
Podcast: Donald Trump. Bloody hell. Is he the Best Ever, like he says? Or the Worst? Whatever. Are there keys to his tiny mind in his childlike Twitter feed? Is his milk being adulterated? Can he rival the Mr Men for literary complexity? Robin and Sean inspect the White House shitehouse. Contains stone-cold losers.
Nobody wants to go on record about this, but I’m fed up and I’m taking a stand. There’s a pattern of British bands coming here, stealing our blues, taking our women, and criticizing America in their lyrics.
We are in a UK comedy drought. We know your political system has fallen to shit. So has ours. Neither situation is funny. Where are the stories on politicians defending Muslim women’s rights and in the same breath calling them letter boxes? That’s funny stuff!
So you’re getting divorced. That European chick, huh? She was never right for you. She didn’t speak your language and she didn’t share your values. She didn’t like your bitter beer, your shepherd’s pie, or your Led Zeppelin.
Medical research has gone to shit! Literally! The New York Times reports that the US pharmaceutical industry is prepared to spend billions researching human feces.
This week a curious, novel incident occurred. Atlanta-based, Grammy-nominated rapper 21 Savage was arrested by US immigration and faces deportation. He raps about the rough streets in Atlanta, Georgia, but he’s really a UK national who overstayed his visa!
Thank you Netflix for putting a marketable name to Trump’s tweeting syndrome. But why disguise it? Why not write a story where people literally die when they read Trump’s tweets?
I never expected the reaction to be so profound. I never expected a reaction at all. Who could feel that strongly about 1980s British cheese documentaries?