Friday, June 25, 2010

Repel of the Week: Repelling with Bunny Ears



Here at Sandwich, we are no strangers to cyberspace (our magnificent is blog is proof of this, no thanks to Chinga, of Minga and Ginga). And it won't come as any surprise to you that I, Christophe, have MASSIVELY repelled on Facebook.

It all happened a few years ago. At the time, I was still living in the Marais, surrounded by my cousins (yes, I'm a homo, and probably a Jew too). One of my homo hotties (let's call her Minerva-Dawn) came to visit.

When she arrived, I was on Facebook, and I didn't see any great need to log off. Desperate to find more Facebook friends, I suggested that Minerva-Dawn sign up. She did, then and there, and went through her list of emails contacts, deciding who she should invite to sign up or be Facebook friends with her. A hundred or so people.

A few days passed. Then, all of a sudden, Facebook told me that this girl (let's call her Calandre Deladrier) had accepted my friend request. However, as far as I knew, I hadn't sent Calandre a friend request. In fact, I didn't even know her, and let's face it: being a big homo, I wasn't exactly going to ask some girl that I didn't know to be friends.

The next few days brought more such acceptances. About five or so. These acceptances allowed me to join the dots: my new friends were all (Facebook and real-world) friends of Minerva-Dawn's. To this day, my theory is that, because I hadn't logged off, my account invited all the people that Minerva-Dawn had invited. This theory is all the more convincing since, when she told me that a few of her (Facebook and real-world) friends had written to her asking why her friend, the Weird Rabbit Man (of course, I was wearing bunny ears in my profile picture), had asked them to be friends.

So there you have it: I repelled a hundred or so people without even realising it.

And it gets better. There's this one guy - a very nice, cute guy - who accepted my request and who I actually got to meet in the real world. I repelled him too. But that's a repel for another week...


Tuesday, June 22, 2010

What a Minga Wants

Today is Minga's birthday.  Horaay.  And as it is Minga's last year of her delicate (read: disappointing) 20's, she would like to present a list of what she would like this year to the Universe (read: life ruiner).  Please Universe, don't be a wanker this year, it's not good for your image.

What A Minga Wants:   (Because her body is saying let's go, but her heart is saying no...)



1.  Love, sex and magic (some magic is needed for the first two to occur)
2.  Her wife to not be killed by a snake, scorpion or militant Filipino.
3.  To kill off Jon Stewart's bitch of a wife and take her much deserved place.  Homewrecker.
4.  Talkback radio to be sent to the netherworlds of Hell never to return.
5.  Helen Mirren.
6.  Ugly ignorant people to stop procreating.
7.  Lifetime supply of crack cakes.
8.  Sheenghis to buy a house in London so that I can fulfil my dream of becoming a full time squatter artist who only wears brown wool cardigans whilst reading Tolstoy in the garden as Cedric Diggery serenades me with a ukulele.  
9.  To promote the ukulele because it has the word lele in it. 
10. To go to this mysterious bar in Paris with Christophe where hot bartenders bathe naked - why are all good ideas already taken?  


Come on Universe, you owe me.  April, 2009 - need I say more?  Hater.
Love Minga.  

London Vs Paris: A Tale of Two Cities

ere at Sandwich we consider ourselves citizens of the world, eternal nomads and intellectually driven adventurers on a quest to find the ultimate enlightenment through the process of world travel.  In other words, we liked Europe and are willing to marry for passports.

London is described by Minga and Ginga as another version of the 7 Levels of Hell much like Dante’s Inferno where he described the personal purgatory of us mortals once deceased. 

London is also like an abusive boyfriend whom you naively think you can change and who’ll one day love you back instead of beating you down physically, mentally and spiritually. London is also exactly how Dicken’s described it – a replica of an industrial time with some modernism but equal in the level of inequality.

In comparison, Paris becomes Voltaire – a place of beauty where one wanders, falls into cafes, sparks up and philosophises amongst the endless beautiful people. Plus being unemployed there is a status symbol of the cool artiste.

A tale of two cities indeed – The Wifebeater vs The Romantic Unemployed


Paris the Hobo Voyage begins with Minga and the Ginga undertaking the odyssey that is a bus trip of 9 hours that includes a hideous overcrowded tour coach and a massive ferry filled with refugees and class rejects from Britain.  (Don't diss the rejects because clearly we fall into that category).

Arrive at some ungodly hour in the morning. End up queuing for an hour to receive one Metro ticket. Yet salvation arrives in the form of our favourite Tahitian/New Zealand resident Parisian homo – Christophe. 
He gallantly takes us to lunch where we gorge on rich steak and beautiful wine since our poor taste buds have been deprived of real food for so long.

Wander over to cousins to be accosted by her spawns. Two adorable yet highly ADD dysfunctional girls who get frustrated at my limited French yet adore me nonetheless.

The next day is a day of continuous wandering. As if reliving all three Lord of the Rings films, we just walk, endlessly taking in the incredible architecture, hideous smells and gorgeous men. Eye rape the same beautiful men as Christophe. As eyes are exhausted we slump down by the tragic Seine and attempt to sunbathe whilst repelling some randoms from across the way.

Wander yet again out to the Isle de la Cite in search of glorious patisseries then onto the St Michel Canal to gulp more replenishing ‘vin’ whilst never fully taking eyes off the aesthetically pleasing locals. However, the fact that we are both ridiculously socially inept in the ways of picking up, one wonders why we even bother.

That night we’re invited to a Swedish party full of Brit expats, the Shiny Jew Alice (her words) and Swedish Anna who makes the same type of meatballs I once had an Ikea in Toronto. Lovely bunch, genuine, funny and constantly intrigued at the epic failings that is Minga and Ginga’s lovelife (or lack thereof). We all curse Irish Boy and Darcy but realise Alice is the winner in the rejection stakes after some cunt had called her ‘the fat girl’. Decide Alice is new hero. We organise to crash Brit Russell’s date tomorrow night then stalk the girl on Facebook. Finish forth bottle of Vin.

“Le Marais (Jewish area) won’t be open Easter.  Oh no hang on, what do we care about more, religon or money? (pause) Yeah Le Marais will be open” –  Alice


Next time Part II

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Enemy of the Month: Justin Bieber

  
After naming some truley horrendous enemies of the month, we thought we'd ease up a little.  So Biebz, you're no Netanyahu or Pauline Hanson, but you still freak us out.
 
NAME:  Justin 'I'm Not Aaron Carter reincarnated' Bieber.

NATIONALITY:   Not German apparently.

CATEGORIES OF OFFENCE:  Hideously banal pop music about love, parties and pyschadelic acid trips.  According to a source (for real, not just existentially) when Bieber was waiting to go through hordes of over-eager teens and unimpressed airport staff in New Zealand, he refused to wait for his mother.  Our source, the Adonis looking cop, told the Beeb, 'you're waiting for your mum, mate'.  Then some kid juiced up on Ritalin stole Bieber's cap and it was all over. 

THREAT LEVEL:  OMG / WTF level.  Possibly going for world domination judging by his album name 'My World' (geniusly subtle) and above video has had 190 million hits...holy Santa Claus!  Our youth will never be the same again.  (and that is all I will say about youth, because after a 9000 word essay on that fucking topic and now this goober, I'm done with youth!).  So young, yet so deadly.

IF YOU SEE THIS ENEMY:  Don't stress, let puberty do its dirty work.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Which Blatantly Racist Hollywood Character Are You?

Since our lovely cougar quiz proved to be so popular - well Harold in Colchester liked it, so big ups Harold- our quiz maestro monkey (aka Minga on a two week vodka binge forgoing showers and shaving), has decided to bring you another astonishingly accurate quiz that questions injustice and political in-correctness. 

Which Blatantly Racist Hollywood Character Are You?

1. What is your musical anthem?

a) Classical high opera to add that extra oomph to your slow motion death scene.
b) Music? Shit, you barely get a last name and costume change before you're tazed off set.
c) 'I Got Ho's In Different Area Codes', clearly the mastery of the wordplay and existentialist thematics make this a winner.

2. Your ideal date would be:

a) Yourself.  Because clearly no one else likes you and you can't afford to be picky.
b) Someone who also enjoys living on the edge and not knowing what tomorrow could bring - whether it's being mauled by mutated sharks or chain-sawed by an inbred lover of hockey masks.
c) The preppy boy/girl next door who understands that underneath your tough exterior lies a sissy soul who believes the words of Keats and Wordsworth have just as much relevance as Ludacris' 'Let me give you some swimming lessons on the penis/ Backstroke, breaststroke, stroke of a genius...Shake your money maker/Like somebody's bout to pay ya'

3. Your ideal holiday would be:

a) You believe it's the journey not the destination, particularly as you've never even made it off the plane/cruise ship/stolen submarine.
b) A nice cabin in hick country, an abandoned campsite by the lake or a rat infested brothel in central Saigon.
c) Holidays are only available to rich white folk who use the time to contemplate what they can do to help the world, then they get drunk and forget it all the next day.

4. Your biggest fear is:

a) Non-smokers.
b) Other ethnics - then you've got no chance.
c) Becoming a junkie/hustler/500 pounds overweight just like your mama/daddy/rapist uncle.

5. Your ideal goal is:

a) World domination.  Isn't everyone's?
b) To make it to the 3D sequel.
c) To prove that you are incredibly smart and work your arse off so you can get accepted into an Ivy league college and use that time to ...play football. 


Mostly A's:The Vengeful Arab/Russian
 

You put the guish in anguish.  Somebody did you wrong a while back and you've had personal beef (and unstable mania) since.  Often sporting an impressive moustache or intolerable hairpiece and high IQ, you're often brought down by your own narcissism and some beefed up white guy in a wifebeater.  More than often you're not actually the ethnicity you are playing and are forced to belt out some hideous fake accent to compensate.
See Gary Oldman in Air Force One, or any recent war on terror flicks with Minga's faux cousins.  Note: This does not include Alan Rickman in Die Hard, because a) he was German and b) He is Alan fucking Rickman, he can do no wrong.

Mostly B's: The Expendable Ethnic


You're the poor sod who gets killed off first.  That's it.  That's your job.  Enjoy.
See any slasher/horror flicks or action films set in 'Nam.


Mostly C's: The Poetic Gangster


You're often black or Latino from the wrong side of the tracks but with a heart of gold and remarkable IQ.  Your mama is a junkie, your daddy left when you were born and you got social services pounding on your door.  It's war on the streets and you're just a soldier, determined to get out but only with the aide of your all-knowing white teacher/fake mama with the heart of gold, armed only with a street smart leather jacket and football/English scholarship.  Just picture you rollin...  (ps Tupac totally did ballet and wrote poetry...hero).
See The Blind Side and the 50's film Blackboard Jungle - the first offender of those bullshit classroom dramas that keep coming back every two years like unavoidable fungi.


Of course these were just a few, there are plenty more fashionable racist characters, the Dumb Sex-Obsessed Exchange Student (think Kal Penn in Van Wilder or the fabulously named Long Duk Dong in 16 Candles), The Noble Native (Last of the Mohicans, Avatar, Indiana Jones), The Funny Fatty....the list is endless.  Oh Hollywood, don't go a changin'!

Monday, June 7, 2010

Repel of the Week: "Ne partez pas sans moi"


In this week's Repel of the Week, the names of the repeller, the (hot) repellee and the witness to the repel have obviously been changed, to protect their identities. Although Camilien was obviously me.

* * *

Ext. Montreal. A park home to a number of beavers. A sunny Sunday afternoon.

WALTERUS: Lydéric, this is my friend Camilien from France.

LYDERIC: Enchanté.

CAMILIEN: Enchanté.

LYDERIC (to CAMILIEN): So what brings you and your lovely blue eyes that look so much like my boyfriend's to Montreal?

CAMILIEN (coyly): Lots of things.

WALTERUS (to LYDERIC): Will you be coming out with us tonight?

LYDERIC: I will if Camilien's coming.

WALTERUS: Oh, he'll be there. The only thing that he's got planned for tomorrow is a trip to Charlemagne.

LYDERIC: Why?

WALTERUS: Because that's Céline Dion's hometown.

LYDERIC: But Camilien, you seemed cool.

CAMILIEN: But I am!

LYDERIC: I said seemED.

Exit LYDERIC.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Prince of Persia


A film such as this deserves only one quote (courtesy of Gladys):

"What a load of shit.  No Persian's hair is ever that tame."

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