Aren't eyes brilliant?

The temporal presentation enhances the well-known afterimage in complementary colour.

Jeremy Hinton writes: “The illusion illustrates Troxler fading, complementary colours, negative after-effects, and is capable of showing colours outside the display gamut.”

What the hey am I on about??! See here.

Can you please knob down the volume on your telebox?

[Edit: What WAS I on about. Vegas is brilliant.]

Will Johnny Vegas please stop shouting?

Like Vic Reeves with his stupendously surreal Catterick, Johnny has grabbed all the jelly and vomit that comprises his beer-stained brain and poured it into one show. What funnels out of his slightly disturbing imagination is 18 Stone Of Idiot, currently slurping its way out of your telebox every weekend.

Now, I appreciate Vegas. I too have little control over my belly, and I often dribble more out of one side of my mouth than the other. I too have visited Beauty's Castle.

But the joy of Johnny is often in his witty asides, subtle glances into nowhere, and that cheeky little grin when he thinks of a joke that he know he couldn't tell without getting the We-Hate-The-KFC-Ad brigade breathing self-righteously down his neckhole. The problem is with 18 Stone Of Idiot is that he shouts. All the time. Loudly.

We are living in an age where sublety is a crime. Surely, the Crazy Frog has an emotional, vulnerable side underneath that warty exterior? Maybe, just maybe, Michael Howard's brick-handed politics of dog whistling and minority lynching will be tempered by the Tories' next campaign of fighting crime with fluffy bunnies and homemade cookies.

Maybe I am just getting old. I can still remember a prime-time TV moment when Les Dawson, putting his porky arm around a Blankety-Blank contestant wearing a distateful bright red dress, remarked "Bloody hell, woman, you look like a hemorrhage." Unsubtle, totally offensive and more than enough giggle to tickle your ribs sillyways.

If then Johnny Vegas is today's Les Dawson, I can forgive him for all his shouting and dribbling and tomfoolery. But he isn't. Isn't he?

Come and see me DJ on June 8th instead of wasting your money on a creatively bankrupt film franchise

I will be joined by Kid Mingus and Lypcyl at the next II.

II (Two) is a quarterly free event in the basement of the Northern Quarter's trendy Cord bar, just off Tib Street.

I'll will be playing tweeting birds and sit-down acid mayhem. Joining me will be Kid Mingus and Volume star Lypcyl. A spectacular visual show of basement proportions will be provided by Fil and Kol.

II takes place on Wednesday June 8th at Cord from 8pm, and it is totally, irrefutably and unegregiously free.

If you intend to see Star Wars instead of coming to II, please read this review first. You don't have to see it. It's not compulsory. In fact, it will be a devastating waste of money and you will die two hours earlier than you would have done if you go and see this creatively bankrupt excuse of a film.

Tay-tay-tay-tay-t-t-t-t-t-tay-tay...

Oh yes, it was just meant to be a quick drink with Kol & Dudie...

(Respectable rating: 9.5)

...but then came the fateful decision to abscond from Manto's, thanks in no small part to the bar having all the atmosphere of a puddle.

(Respectable rating: 8.4)

Bar-hopping on Canal Street is addictive; once you hop, you can't stop. So Via Fossa it was. I caught up another brace of chums - Rob and Howard, two people I have known since before Mel & Kim were in. We spent our evening talking about politics, suspiciously amiable Indian guys trying to chat me up ("My name is Gudpa, do you want a lager?") and the amusing Eddie Izzard lookalike we saw near the bar.

(Respectable rating: 6.5)

A quick stop via McTucky's, then off to Eden across the canal for more drinks with Kol & Dudie. The trannie DJ was bad, the music even worse, but hey the drink was nice, the company lovely, the eye candy was eye candy, and the tables were... well, just waiting to be danced upon.



(Respectable rating: 0.1)

I ain't never gonna be respectable.

Weebl & Bob pimp kudos joy

Well shiver me timbers and call me Chunky, if it isn't a new episode of Weebl & Bob.

The latest episode brings a mixture of jousting, Pimp My Ride and jam.

W&B, as they are know to fellow omelettes, can now carry a heap load of kudos on their shoulders for giving respect to Pimp My Ride. This show is one of the best programmes ever to come out of the Axis of Evil, er, I mean, America. Right up there with the A Team, Knight Rider, and - yes - Saved By The Bell.

If you have't come across Weebl & Bob before, there isn't much to understand. There's an egg called Weebl. He's the bigger one. And there's an egg called Bob. He's the smaller one. And in this episode, they meet another egg.

Pimp my click, motherclicker. (It's a LARGE-ISH FILE by the way.)

If my corneas melt, blame Starflyer 59

I fear more and more that my corneas are beginning to meld unhelpfully with my computer screen as I wade deeper into the world wide mire of the interweb.

My latest obsession was sparked when I discovered very little of Starflyer 59 on Wikipedia, the public access online encyclopedia of some renown. Starflyer 59 (or SF59 to those in the know) are a Christian rock band that I have followed for some time. As SF59 fans have a tendency towards fixation beyond that of a casual fan, I expected to see a feast of text on Wikipedia. But no, there were only a few lines, which on Wikipedia barely amounts to a sausage.

Well, not until now. I have started by adding a discography to the page. You can see it by clicking your little arrow here. See that discography bit? That's me, that is.

Of course, now this has ignited another obsession in that completist bit of my brain that insists I own every bit of Starflyer 59 plastic on this polluted Earth. So if anyone has She's The Queen, Le Vainqueur, Plugged or Live At The Paradox (which I had forgotten existed until I researched for Wikipedia), please let me know. Please. No, seriously...

My eyes hurt.

Aliens have invaded my blog. Sorry.

Very inconvenient this, but aliens have invaded my blog.

It was happily surfing the interweb dimension when suddenly these UFOs flew over and...

...well, see for yourself. Click here.

Stupid aliens.

Bill Drummond is going to be at Greenbelt...

...so says my playbuddy Fil whose letterbox spewed a flyer claiming the KLF genius will appear at the UK's premier post-evangelical fest.

Me wonders if this is something to do with a chap called John Davies, a curate based in Liverpool who is a Drummond obsessive and Greenbelt's SoulSpace organiser.

A search for "Bill Drummond" on Greenbelt's website turns up no results in exactly 0.4 seconds. Why do they need to tell me it took 0.4 seconds to find nothing?

Fil reckons it's all a practical joke and Drummond won't turn up, replaced instead with a grey stick.

Here's a grey stick for sale at a handsome price of 56 Australian dollars. Drummond may be interested in buying this expensive bit of twiggery. After all, he has got money to burn.

A search for "grey stick" on Greenbelt's website also turns up no results in 0.4 exactly seconds. A coincidence? I think not.