To celebrate my recent hate and misery awakening; I decided to phone everyone in the world and tell them I hate them. This may seem a bit juvenile but in my world of hate, I don’t care. And let’s face it, what is hate without action?

I started last week Monday and got through most of Europe (paying special attention to France and Holland). But as I was making a particularly nasty phone call to the Berendsen family in Zutphen, Holland, the phone call thing got boring (and not to mention expensive). So I stopped. The first 150 000 calls were fun, especially when I made people cry. After that, well, it got boring.

I did feel a little disappointed that I didn’t get to tell everyone I hate them. It would have been nice and, I would love to have been that guy who got to tell the whole world he hates them. But then I got to thinking, I have indirectly achieved this and so has everyone else. If we apply the Six Degrees of Separation rule (sometimes known as the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon), then everyone, including myself, has told the whole world they hate them by a degree of six people. And if you think about how many teenagers tell their parents on a daily basis that they hate them, then you probably tell the whole world every minute that you hate them. How awesome is that?

So I got to play golf the other day with Tony Blair. We both are not the biggest fans of the game. I’m terrible at it and he’s, well terrible too. We only ended up playing the game because the strippers we’d been hanging out with the night before had insisted we join them (and other fellow strippers) on the course for their annual medical awareness drive called, Strippers for Men with Erectile Dysfunctions. Admittedly we were hesitant at first, since we didn’t want anyone to think we were suffering any dysfunctions with our own kit (and for the record, I don’t have any problems with my kit, except for maybe a slight case of over exercising).

Anyway, we got to talking about who we’d really like to get into a fight with. Tony immediately said he wanted to bring some smack down on Lionel Richie. I had to think about it for quite a while. There were so many people I wanted to punch in the face, but when I thought about it real hard, I had to say, the person I most wanted to repeatedly punch in the face was (and still is) Robert Kiyosaki, the twat who wrote Rich Dad Poor Dad. After I told Tony that, he changed his mind about Lionel, and agreed that Kiyosaki was a much better face-punching prospect. In fact, as it turned out, Robert Kiyosaki face was such a desirable punch bag that we both decided to leave our golf game and hookers and seek the dumb bastard out for an immediate face punching.

Google is awesome when you need to find someone to punch in the face. As it turned out Kiyosaki was a few miles down the road at a convention centre giving a talk to disadvantaged kids who don’t have dads (I called them bastards but Tony said that just because they don’t have dads doesn’t mean that they are bastards. We discussed this for the remainder of the drive over to the convention centre and in the end; we both decided that we’d call them bastards anyway).

The talk was well signposted (to which we were both very appreciative) and it didn’t take us long to find the main door to the hall. It took us a few minutes to decide how our entrance should be. Tony said he wanted to kick the door open and run screaming down the aisle all the way to Kiyosaki but I thought it would be better to calmly walk in and surprise him as we reach him. We flipped a coin and I won. And since we were at it, we flipped the coin again to see who would get to punch Robert in the face first. I lost.

‘So my rich dad said to me, take $50 and leave it around the house for your Poor Dad to see… sorry, can I help you gentlemen,’ asked Kiyosaki as we walked calmly in.

We didn’t say anything. A sea of underprivileged children’s heads immediately turned to look at us but we just slowly and calmly walked up to Kiyosaki (admittedly we started walking faster and fast with excitement, until we were doing that spaz-run-walking thing).

‘Hey, are you Tony Blair, asked Kiyosaki as Tony leapt on stage?

The answer was an awesome punch from Tony fucking Blair’s fist. His punch to the face was so awesome that a sonic envelope formed around his arm as his fist broke the sound barrier into Robert Kiyosaki’s face. Blood exploded from Kiyosaki’s face like someone had popped an inflated balloon filled with ketchup. I even had to hold my hands up to shield my eyes from flying Kiyosaki teeth. I almost peed my pants the punch was so cool. Kiyosaki reeled back and fell on his ass. He sat stunned and was mumbling random weird stuff like: ‘4mm lead pencil;’ ‘Shelving;’ ‘Combination air cabin handle;’ ‘Vitamin supplements;’ ‘Page 42.’

The dude was so fucked that both Tony and myself were laughing so much that I almost forgot I still had to punch him. I didn’t forget for long. As Robert got up off the floor his senses appeared to return.

‘What the hell,’ mumbled Kiyosaki as blood spurted from his mouth.

I didn’t reply from shear excitement and, BOOM, I caught him on his left cheek. I have to admit there was no sonic boom to accompany my punch, but hell, it was a good one and it felt good. Robert’s left cheek immediately swelled into a huge purple lump.

I could go on about how Tony and I went on further to punch Robert Kiyosaski in the face or how Tony convinced all the kids to line up and systematically punch Robert in the face as well. But I won’t; because it probably will be boring for everyone to read (and I’d be surprised if everyone made it this far and if anyone wants the full and unedited version, buy me a beer and I’ll tell you). Anyway, I don’t care because I really just want everyone to know that I, and Tony Blair, got to punch Robert Kiyosaki in the face; multiple times.

Poor Dads: 84; Rich Dads 00.

So for all of you who haven’t seen Terminator Salvation, let me give you the rundown so you are saved the pain and suffering of going to see it.

Termination Salvation is set, partially, in the post apocalyptic future. John Connor (Christian Bale) and his mom have failed to stop Judgment day and are now doomed to an unpleasant life trapped in an Industrial Light and Magic show reel. The resistance has once again decided to send back a human to the past in an attempt to alter the dark future. This time the resistance has chosen John Connor as the representative savior. In a bid to play the machines at their own game, John Connor must go back to the 50s and kill the grandparents of the inventor of the Skynet computer. What the resistance doesn’t count on is that the machines have got wind of their plan and have sent a Terminator named Marty McFly (Michael J Fox) back to the future to try and foil his plans.

I must say, I loved the character of Marty McFly. What a wonderful deviation from previous Terminators. The audience certainly did connect with the youthful, wise cracking, teenage, machine. At times I was laughing so much at Marty McFly that for the first time in the Terminator franchise, I was supporting the machines. Is this an accidental cinematic mistake or did the writers actually want to cause some emotional torment within the viewer’s hearts and minds. I felt a little guilty that I was inwardly supporting the machines. I don’t think we’ll ever know if it was intentional, but I do think that each and every cinemagoer will suffer the same struggles I did when trying to emotionally and/or subconsciously pick a side.

For most of the movie John Connor must attempt to cause conflict within the relationship of George and Lorraine McFly (Skynet’s Great Grandparents) and thereby cause them to miss their first kiss at their High School Prom (an event that leads to the doom of mankind). John Connor uses various tactics to try split them up, and I won’t go into too much detail, but some of his crazy antics include dressing up as a cheerleader and attempting to seduce George away from Lorraine. Another finds John starting a very cool high school band with the intention of luring the future Mrs McFly away from George with absolute coolness. The latter stunt sets the audience up for one of the final scenes whereby Terminator Marty McFly (who also starts his own band) and John Connor have a musical show down at the high school dance in an attempt to vie for George and Lorraine’s affection.

In an odd twist of scripting fate, John’s rendition of Chuck Berry’s ‘Jonny B Good’ does not win the hearts of Skynet’s Grandparent nor that of the pupils of Hill Valley High. However, Terminator Marty McFly instead, rips up the dance floor with a fantastic cover of Mr Roboto and in doing so, causes George and Lorrraine McFly to kiss. Bring on Judgement Day.

For the rest of the movie John Connor has a sulky face (made extremely believable buy Bale’s brilliant acting abilities) but manages to put all his differences aside and befriends the Terminator McFly (probably because McFly is the only one in the movie with a time traveling car. And the final frames do see Marty and John driving off together into a nuclear sunset).

In closing I can’t help but feel that the studios lost the plot on this one. If I han’t seen all the other Terminator movies, I may have enjoyed this one. But Terminator Salvation in not a stand-alone movie but rather one part of a whole and therefore needs to be judged as such. I believe the character of John Connor has been lost. All the dressing up as a girly boy doesn’t fit the profile of a futuristic leader. And let’s face it; it is the character of John Connor that has helped build the Terminator Franchise (and I suppose Terminators helped built it too; and James Cameron; and many other things). As for McFly, Michel J Fox does a superb job of making the audience love the new Terminator and thereby, making us the viewer, advertently or inadvertently, love the machines. The McFlys ironic love for his human ‘parents’ could have been a movie moment that should have always been remembered. However, I think the studios’ attempt to pull in a new audience with a loveable, teenage, skateboarding Terminator, is wrong and far from where this franchise should be going. And just reworking old T1 and T2 lines like, ‘come with me if you want to dance,’ or unnecessary cameo appearances by Arnold Schwarzenegger as the high school principal don’t cut it. I believe, once again, Hollywood is in a blind, box office, moneymaking rampage. Give this one a miss and, overall I give Terminator Salvation 2/10.

(oh, the lighting was very professional.)

Once upon a time there was a little train engine that sat in the rail-yard. None of the other engines liked him because he was very small. He also had no parents and had many abandonment issues. He wanted to take drugs to ease some of his pain but he couldn’t, because he had no hands, and that made him sadder. So he sat, in the rail-yard, useless and unwanted.

All the other engines in the rail-yard had jobs and were very important to the intricate railways networks and systems. Most of them dragged heavy loads to far and distant towns. On one particular day all the engines were out whoring with other engines in other stations, as it was their day off. It just so happened that Richard Branson needed a huge jet part to be delivered urgently to Cambodia, but there were no engines left in the station to deliver the part; or was there.

The stationmaster tried desperately to radio the other engines, but they were drunk with whore love and weren’t responding. So he stat down on the edge of the platform and watched Richard Branson’s name blink over and over on his phone. He had no choice but to commit suicide. And just as he was about to go to the storeroom to get some rope, the little engine pulled up beside him and said, ‘I’ll take the jet parts to Cambodia.’

The station master just smiled and place his hand on top of the little engine’s metal frame and replied, ‘thank you little engine, but you won’t even make it over the first hill with that load. It’s all over for me. I must kill myself.’

But little engine didn’t back off. He blew his little whistle and said,’ I think I can do it. I really do.’

The stationmaster paused for a moment. A small tear trickled down his face as his heart clenched at the little engine’s courage.

‘Fine,’ said the stationmaster,’ I think you can do it.’

The little engine huffed and puffed and with a big blast of his whistle slowly but surely pulled out the station. He kept saying over and over to himself, ‘I think I can. I think I can. I think I can’

As he approached the top of the hill the hydraulics on his breaks failed and he derailed and he fell over on his side. The huge cargo of jet parts tumbled down the hill and into a small house in the town below. The large and heavy aviation parts killed two people in that house: the stationmaster’s wife and his newborn child.

The little engine was left on the side of the tracks for months. All the other engines blew their whistles in laughter every time they passed him lying there on the side of the tracks. He finally died from neglect. To this day all train engines blow their whistles in laughter at the little engine that couldn’t and if ever you go visit the site of the little engine’s now rusting frame, you can have your photo taken with his lifeless body for $1.