The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Can

In the lengthening history of popular beat music, there has been a plague of Beatles, a sackful of Stones, a whole arsenal of Sex Pistols, and an excess of INXS... but there has only, to our knowledge, been one can of CAN. (Check this - Ed.)

Formed during the student riots of 1968 but schooled in classical ballet and water polo, the main members of CAN fell into classic archetypes: Irmin Schmidt, the expansive synth-tinkler with a Silver Surfer on his jacket and golden melodies at his fingertips; Holger Czukay, the genial bassist and sound manipulator sporting a highly iconic moustache; Jaki Liebezeit, the "best jazz drummer in Germany", never ever ever out-of-time; Michael Karoli, the hot guitar wizard with funky moves, recruited whilst still a schoolboy. (Duty of care? - Ed.)

These volcanic talents learned to harness their personal lava flows under the stern tutelage of Karlheinz Stockhausen, the infamous avant-garde composer who once banned melody for an entire year; another year he composed only with paper-clips. For Stockhausen, anything could be music, apart from most sounds that humans actually enjoyed. His masterwork "Desperate Sting of a Dying Wasp" required 88 people on stage to play atonal comb-and-paper for 88 minutes. You'd riot too.

This cerebral high art was all very well for developing one's sense of importance, but CAN's first paying commissions were of an altogether lower cultural form - blue movies. Many early Rodox pornos ("Me! I'm A Nympho"; "Curiosity Killed The Cock" etc) are backed by their unmistakable propulsive grooves. They recorded enough to finance the purchase of their Dusseldorf studio, Kling Klang (hang onnnnn, are we not doing a Kraftwerk entry then? - Ed.) which was so named after the internal resonances that adult metal Ben-Wa balls create once inserted into the vagina. It stayed their home for the rest of their career and is a place of pilgrimage and fervent worship today.

To this klinging-klanging CAN though, one crucial aspect was missing - they needed a singer, a totem on stage through whom to channel their improvised grooves. Their first vocalist was Malcolm Mooney, found during a dangerous excursion to 1920s Chicago. Malcolm had some difficulty adjusting to the modern German lifestyle and language, prompting his trademark repetitive delivery as he asked the same questions again and again, hoping for a different answer: "Are you waiting for the streetcar? ...Are you waiting for the streetcar?"

Eventually Malcolm developed not only his own voice but many voices, all at once; and he sensibly left the band for the sake of clarity. Whither the great plant! Little did they expect though, the great plant was actually growing every minute on the streets, where he moved and hollered like an otherworldly visitor. This new cutting was Damo. All hail Damo. This particular great plant had been a Japanese seedling, and now he took root in the richly fertile soil of CAN music. And my, what roots! Damo gave the band raw sex appeal. Before long, their gigs were ascending into impromptu orgies, the band dutifully soundtracking every joyous squeal and squirt. Luckily, CAN were also sonic healers, with the power to cure scurvy.

CAN were infamous for a combination of slack-bottomed freaking out and intensely parsimonious tape-editing. One song beloved of CAN devotees, "Can Can", came out of a continuous eight-hour recording session, 467 minutes eventually edited down to 1:24. (Michael: "My fingers bled for a week afterwards - then they cut my entire solo.")

Eventually, mere grooves could no longer hold Damo, and he spread in all directions, becoming a mycelial network. The voice was now beyond human comprehension.

After Damo's transmogrification, the remaining core members decided to refocus on an important
element for all musicians: their bank balances. This was, perversely, CAN's most commercially successful period. Hit singles included "Mauve It", their take on the Cliff Richard rock-and-roll classic; "Silver Saturday Knight", a disco smash; and "Funky Gibbon", in which they took on alter-egos as a group of middle-aged English comedians named "The Goodies". These sold in bucketloads. Some accused CAN of selling out. This upset Holger in particular, who vowed to "disprove the groove" by not using the bass again on a CAN record. To get round this, the others brought in a new bass player who was, if anything, even more wedded to the groove. This was followed by an extra bongo player, and before long entire bands were attaching to CAN like limpets to a kraut-rock.

All good containers have their sell-by date, and okra must be eaten fast. CAN had the good grace to scrunch up with a final single, "Can Cannot", following which they only reconvened once a decade to sign spoons, dismiss their musical legacy and carp at one another. Tribute band Bang On A Can made a whole career out of confusing audiences with their almost unrecognisable cover versions. Meanwhile our great plant, Damo, had a second wind as the star of horror movie "Ring". Remember: don't pick up if it's "Out Of Reach".

The Beware! Dead (Local) Celebrity Séance - part 1: Willy E. Wilkonson

Some months ago, Beware! had a chance encounter with members of the Blackpool Society of Psychical Investigation (BSPI), whilst attempting to avoid an angry car park attendant (That's a long, boring story which you can read about in the local press. - Ed). By chance, we had stumbled upon their attempt to contact the spirit of a long-dead local celebrity, Willy E. Wilkonson.

Hypno The Rapy, Scourge Of The Northwest, Killed By Fridge

A fridge. (Photo: Magi
Media. CC BY-SA 3.0)

Wilkonson had spent several years in the town performing as a magician, but when variety acts fell out of fashion in the mid '80s he reinvented himself as a hypnotherapist. However, a series of sexual assault allegations led to the town's main newspaper, The Blackpool Standard, coining the nickname 'Hypno the Rapy'. Wilkonson's career never recovered. Not long after, Wilkonson was killed whilst walking through Blackpool, when he was struck by a fridge pushed from the top of a town centre carpark. Although never charged, a rival hypnotherapist, Benjamin Shortpike, was popularly thought to have murdered Wilkonson in retaliation for bringing Lancashire hypnotherapy into disrepute. Shortpike died not long after, in equally suspicious circumstances, when he fell from the same carpark onto the fridge which was being delivered to replace the one which had killed Wilkonson.

A séance. (Public domain.)

The BSPI's séance was a relatively quiet affair. No other media were present, and our being there was unobtrusive. The séance was being conducted in the function room of Blackpool's Adelaide Grande Hotel which the BSPI had rented for next to nothing in return for promising to run up a healthy bar bill. The Adelaide had been the venue for Wilkonson's final public appearance, the final night of his ill-fated 'I Can Feel You Feel' Lancashire Tour in 1986, and the investigators had hoped to exploit that connection in order to bring about Wilkonson's ghostly attendance at the séance.

Blackpool, England's New Ghost Convention Centre

Although the séance was pitched as "a bit of local colour" with which the local press could fill a half-page article, the reality was viewed rather more cynically. The Adelaide was performing badly and closure seemed imminent. Furthermore, the town council was considering compulsory purchases to redevelop vast swathes of Blackpool's centre but the Adelaide's owners had sentimental ties to the property and they were keen to prove its value to organisations viewing Blackpool as an important conference location. Around this time, a Northwest events organiser was considering Blackpool for the International Symposium of Paranormal Research, and they wanted a venue with 'history', so the Adelaide's owners put in a formal bid.

Séance Of The Century

BSPI's Chris Morris in front of a photo
of Hypno The Rapy – though it might be
Terry Jones and Michael Palin.
(© BBC. Used without permission.)

The following is our transcript of the séance. We have indicated instances which we believe were staged or faked, ad-lib-style, and those which actually did seem to be genuinely unexplained, phenomena. Personnel are as follow:


B!: Adrian Darvell and Gwilliam Mêlée lumped together for ease of reading, but occasionally initialled.

JB: Jeremy Brooke, BSPI
CM: Chris Morris, BSPI
RC: Rebecca Cully, BSPI

SK: Sarah Kettering, Adelaide Grand Hotel
MK: Mike Kettering, Adelaide Grand Hotel

B! reps enter lounge area of the Adelaide, and take a seat in a booth at the edge of the room. In the booth immediately to our left, BSPI personnel are already set up. Extra chairs and tables have been pulled over to their booth to support various electronic paraphernalia connected with their ghost-hunting exploits. GM of Beware! heads to bar for one bottle of Magners (the only cider they serve) and one orange juice. Blackpool is a quiet town; he is served swiftly and returns to the B! booth.

[A brief conversation occurs involving both parties. B! is introduced to the digital audio recorder by JB, and we agree some ground rules, namely that we will not engage with any paranormal entities encountered during the séance, unless requested to do so by JB, CM or RC of BSPI. B! would witness the séance but would act for the most part as impartial observers.]

CM: Okay, let's get going. Mike, can we get the offerings?

SK appears with a mug of soup and some disappointing-looking bread on a mismatched side plate, and places it on the séance table. CM throws a condescending look and points to the next table. SK picks up the items and places them unceremoniously on the other table.

CM: I guess there's nothing wrong with a false start. [Leans into mic] Becks has the specific offerings for our target spirit. Becks, if you would.

RC places an odd assortment of objects on the soup table.

CM: [To mic] Let the record show that Becks has placed objects connected with our target spirit, William Wilkonson, on the offering table. We have a pair of unlaundered trousers, retrieved from a charity shop bag left at the front of Sue Ryder following a house clearance, a TV remote from the same bag and a tank from the fridge which was responsible for his death.

JB: It's a compressor.

CM: What?

JB: It's not a tank, it's a compressor.

CM: Okay, compressor... Right, the offerings are, er, offered, and we'll start with an opening prayer of protection to get things off in the right direction. In the name of God, Jesus Christ, The Great Brotherhood of Light, the angels Michael and Gabriel, please protect us from the forces of evil during this spiritual connection. Let there be nothing but light surrounding us and let us only communicate with powers and entities of light. Protect us, protect this hotel, the people in this hotel, Blackpool in general, and let there only be light and nothing but light. Peace and love! [Makes embarrassing peace sign] AMEN!

JB: [Whispers] We're supposed to be holding hands.

CM: [Places hand over mic; whispers] Look, spirits aren't going to give a fuck if we're holding hands or not and the microphone can't see it. Okay? Okay!

RC: [Cutting in] We reach out to any spirits in the vicinity and ask them to offer a sign of their presence.

JB: Lights are supposed to be off.

CM: Doesn't matter. SPIRITS!?

Lights flicker. AD notes absence of bar staff during this. Inaudible muttering.

CM: Thank you. Can you do that again?

Lights flicker, as if on demand. Again AD notes absence of staff. MK peers from behind bar area.

CM: Thank you again. We're now gonna try to ascertain which spirit, or spirits, are currently present. We extend a hand of warmth to those spirits and appreciate them giving their energies to this séance. Spirits! Please indicate the method by which you would like to communicate.

A loud bang is heard, seemingly from the direction of the bar. At the same time, the sound of a table of chair leg scraping on the ground is heard. Confused expressions from the BSPI guys.

CM: [Whispering] Did one of you kick the table?

JB: [Baffled expression] Er, no. I, er, heard the knocks, though.

CM: [Whispering] I thought we weren't doing table tipping?

JB: [Whispering; signalling with agitated nods and angry eye-staring] It's whatever the ghost wants, right?

CM: [Shrugs] Well, whatever. Spirit, you have indicated you will communicate using 'spirit knocks'. We ask you to use one knock for 'yes', two knocks for 'no', and three knocks for 'don't know'. We also ask you to use a series of knocks to specify a number. Do you agree?

There are a few seconds of silence, towards the end of which the BSPI guys look slightly uncomfortable. Eventually, there is a single knock. Not surprisingly, it comes from the direction of the bar.

CM: Er, thank you. Will you confirm that you answered 'yes'?

Less waiting, now. There is a single knock. CM looks relieved, but then the table they're sat at slides about a quarter inch towards him.

CM: Thank you, spirit. [Whispering angrily] Seriously, Jeremy, are you kicking the fucking table?

JB: [Raises eyebrows and widens eyes, then looks at mic. Whispers.] We. Are. Re. Cording.

CM looks unsatisfied by this response. RC shoots sympathetic look to JB and then an embarrassed smile to B!. B! react with professional indifference, because, well, we're professionals!

JB: Maybe we should, y' know, go after an identity?

CM: Yes! Yes. Okay. [Adjusts the desktop mic] Yes. Identity. I... den... tit... teee.

JB: [Whispering] Chris? You okay?

CM: Hm? Yusss... Right, identity. Spirit! Are you male?

One knock.

CM: Thank you... Sir. Are you... local?

One knock.

CM: Thank you. Are you recently departed? [CM places hand over mic] What? Who wrote these? They're awful. Jez, is this your handwriting?

JB: No, it was that intern you were fu—— [JB is cut off by a loud knock]

CM: Well, I suppose if this is all I've got... [Clears throat] Did you die peacefully?

Two knocks.

CM: [Leaning into mic] Let the record show that the spirit responded with two knocks. Two knocks for 'no'. Two knocks for dead, unpeaceful.

The table jerks a half inch away from the group. The legs screech on the floor.

CM: Fucking hell, who's doing that?

AD to GM: [Whispering] This guy's losing the plot!

RC: Shitting hell, Chris, tone it down. No one's doing this – unless you've got your foot on the table!

CM: Don't be ridiculous.

JB: Christ, guys, can we take five? I'll cut the interruptions later and make it sound like one hit. Chris, why are you so fucking uptight? I can fix the audio.

CM: If it's not convincing, the online community will roast us. I don't want those 13 O'Clock bastards getting any mileage out of this. They'll screw us bad. Scepticism is back in, remember.

JB looks awkwardly towards AB and GM.

JB: This is normal for audio. All the best ghost shows do it. Zak Bagans practically admits to it!

AD googles Zak Bagans on phone, realises he's a hack. At this point AD suggests to GM that he get a couple of extra drinks from the bar.

AD: I've got an idea. Back in a sec.

AD takes the Beware! dictaphone – well, a dictaphone app on an iPhone – to the bar with him. Barman (MK) takes a little while to reappear.

AD: Missed your cue, there, mate! Can you tighten it up? It'll take us ages to edit.

MK: It's not easy from over here. I can barely hear what you're saying over the extractor, even with this prompt list.

CM appears at the bar as MK hands AD his change. AD overhears CM as he carries drinks back to GM...

CM: (To MK) What was he talking about?

AD: (To GM) Leave the drinks! We've gotta go!

To be continued [insert spooky music]...

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Sylvester Stallone

In the galaxy of celebrity, there are some stars that shine so bright that it's almost impossible to believe they are just one star. One such pulsar is Sly "Sylvester" Stallone (born 1946-odd), a man who single-handedly squirted out a billion action films (Check this. Ed). The fastest writer in the business, Sly is said to have scrawled the script for the first "Ricky" film whilst popping to the toilet at Madison Square Garden on the night of the great Mohammed Ali v Henry Cooper fight. The original roll is now on permanent display in the Philadelphia Spread Museum.

After quitting his divinity course, Sly earned money as an extra for several years (third diner on the left in "The Godfather", bank customer in "Dog Day Afternoon", unnamed heavy in "Serpico Goes To Shanghai"). After he hit the big time, unscrupulous producers cashed in on his fame by editing together old audition footage and scenes from the cutting-room floor, recut to make Sly into the star of the highly surreal "God of the Quads".

A young, glistening Sly, courtesy
of Andy for MoMoJaJa.

Famous for catchphrases including "get you off me!", "hey!", and "aaahhaarrgghhh!" Sly cornered the market in action flicks. As hinted earlier, his speed is legendary: he wrote, budgeted, scored, costumed, filmed and edited "Ricky" in a day (the story of a little kid mechanic who becomes a lucha libre wrestler). A series of budget-busting bunker-buggers followed; notably "Ricky IV: The Quest For Democracy", released at the height of Reagan-era Cold War paranoia, in which the title character faced off against Brezhnev in a rigged-up ring in the UN HQ at Geneva; and "Ricky Horror", a gender-bending Vietnam musical which later saw Sly honoured for services to the corset industry.

As a leading box office draw, Sly's varied roles included a wronged man in prison; a wronged man in a mental ward; a man in a wrong prison; a ham in a pickle; and a mental wronged man on the loose. A method actor, Sly tunnelled into Slade Penitentiary to get into character for "The Lock-Down", but then couldn't find his way out again, causing a year-long delay in filming.

His work-out routine is infamously extreme. Gargling raw eggs until they scramble in the mouth, whilst hanging off a zip wire over a ravine. He bench-pressed live crocodiles. He exploded on five separate occasions. He tore down entire parking lots.

Sly still found time for life's little luxuries, like eating fine cuisine (his own restaurant chain, Knock-Down Foods), and sex (his own condom line, Sly's Tiger Eye).

He's held back from the political arena, which is perhaps a good thing as of course he's a Republican. 

With the wisdom of old age and the muscle definition of regular HGH injections, in recent years a still-stunning, still-slurring Sly made a comeback to the big screen with an adaptation of 90s Britcom "Waiting For God", starring all his action hero mates (Mr T, David Hasselhoff, Joan Collins) as residents of a retirement home/concentration camp fighting for dignity and freedom under the watch of bumbling villain Christopher Walken and his henchman, Grace Jones. To his legion of fans, however, Stallone will always be best known as a wronged man on the right screen. Our screen. Wrong may he reign.

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Sam Allardyce

The world of football is a muddy globe, a polished rounded scarab ball of muck, and you'd have to be mad to work in it. However, amongst the ranks of con artists, cheaters, hookers, hustlers, pimps and their johns, a few shining examples stand out, undigested vitamin pills in the effluent. One such supplement is the new England Crystal Palace Everton manager (Article a long time in the works? Ed). Trust Beware! to give you the lowdown on a high man amongst low lives. In mid-table.

Sam Allardyce (General Stout-Drawers; Lord Hoof of Route One; Grimlock Ironhide)

Step forward Samuel Allardyce, one of Italy's finest cultural exports. Brought up hand-to-frock in the haute couture world of Milan, small Sam foreswore the fashion industry of his fastidious forebears, instead pursuing an instinctive passion for the transcendent possibilities and balletic beauty of chess. There were no chess clubs in his town (the philistines!) so Sam reluctantly signed up for football class; but for the first term he mainly pretended to be a castle.

As this may hint, Allardyce's first break was not in football, nor chess, but acting. Talent-spotted by a very confused agent, for five long hard years Sam strove as Stan Magnum in "Magnum, I.P.", the cult cop splash about a stout-tached Bermuda short-sporting detective researching intellectual property rights in the Caymans. (The girls, the glamour. Check it out on Kodi!)

It is said that when he shaved off his Magnum tache, he gained 10 years and lost all his acting ability. Acting's loss was surely football's gain.

At a door-busting 8'2" and having absorbed several other defenders, and a manual on stone-masonry, Sam's playing career was predictably static as he perfected the art of spreading himself wide in front of the goal, planted hard, legs and arms and bellies. "None shall pass!" was his pithy catchphrase yelled from the top of his own turrets. Opposition players feigned nosebleeds to avoid facing him. Balls spontaneously deflated in order to stay out of harm's way. Later he played in the United States and frightened the Yanks off the game for a decade. Allardyce paid for some coaching badges and built a new career at pitch-side.

Big Sam has managed some unfashionable clubs - Limerick, Blackpool, Sunderland, Wisbech, Skaro - and has maintained a good rapport with Mackems, Fenlanders and Daleks alike, but insists: "There is no way I should be managing dour drab teams. I should be managing Real Madrid and Barcelona. If I managed Real Madrid, we'd win the Premier League every time."

Sam became noted for his pioneering use of scientific management. Players spent more time doing pilates, inhaling incense and sweating in Turkish baths than the more standard "run into the box and fall over" or "curse the referee's parentage". In the late 80s, Sam got "well into all this new fangled computing" and used pioneering Sinclair technology to track player movements and calculate e.g. the precise position from which each player was most likely to score. Unfortunately, the laser pinpointing was highly temperamental due to Sinclair's insistence on shoddy over-miniaturised parts, but Sam persisted and eventually worked out his players' best scoring positions were on the opponent's goal-line following a long hoofed clearance. Now there's tactics.

Players became used to foregoing alcohol, instead washing down bottles of vitamin pills with avocado smoothies. Big Sam prefers his vits in chewable form and often gets through 12 Haliborange - always Haliborange - in the course of one match.

Indeed, it is often overlooked how cultured Sam is. When he first applied to be England manager in 2006, Allardyce's application was written as a stand-alone app for high-end PCs combining C++, Pearl and Haskell. When it turned out that the FA system ran on DOS-based 486 machines, Sam had to run home and print out the entire thing, only for it to transpire most of the FA couldn't read either.

Away from pitch-side, he started a comedy duo with his friend and colleague, Portuguese deadpan Jose "No Comment" Mourinho, where the two saucy wags pretended to hate each other's guts. Their "stone age football", "bus parking tutor" and what an effing liberty" routines remain firm favourites. Sam also likes taramasalata, feng shui and The Mikado.

After the debacle of his short time in charge of the national team - it turned out that the FA had blacklisted Haliborange from pitch-side, unbeknownst to Sam who in his first match chomped through a pack of them on camera - an early retirement seemed on the cards; and there was a short-lived diversion into pro snooker, where his extreme no-potting tactics combined with dangerously long balls led to a life ban from the green baize; but the lure of football was too strong.

Now at his latest desperate club, Everton of Manchester, Sam discovered that the reason for their recent woes was an inability of other players to simply pass to star striker Mickey Rooney ("That lad has got goals coming out of his arse, he just needs some feeders"). Sam fixed that with his patented "effing-pass-to-Rooney" strategy, tested in computer simulation and aided by drones and magnetic boots. Long may this thoroughly modern innovator continue to tear up form books, rule books and record books. No cooking of the books implied.

Excessive consumption of Haliborange may cause laxative effects. Always squeeze the maypole.

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - U.S. Election Special

How to explain the race for America's next President to an outsider? Some will tell you the President is a straw figure, effectively neutered by the machinations of the senate, condemned to fiddle around the edges. Some may suggest on entering the Oval Office, the new President is taken to one side and shown the video of Kennedy's assassination, with a quiet entreaty not to rock the boat. Some may point out that America is so indebted to various moguls and sheikhs and China that its hands and feet are tied and all it can do is attempt to talk (foolish) other countries into ceding control based on some nebulous notions of freedom...

But still, the President carries real power. The general idea is still that a President makes things happen. Admittedly, mostly contracts for their chums' businesses. So, we get a race to the White House, which descends into an undignified scramble through bullshit. Candidates hire huge campaign teams. They vie for the backing of business leaders.

These po-faced peacocks and their unwieldy overripe-buttock-gangs pebble-dash the country for a good two years, spewing bombast, powered by flammable gas and inflammatory statements. Millions are wasted on dreadful spectacle. Naturally, Beware! is on hand to gloat.

Your runners and riders...

Democratic 1% Party

Hillary Clinton (Bloodline Botox Bomber) - all the money, all the connections, and yet the public haven't warmed to her. Still the presumed shoo-in for third way business as usual. Mrs Clinton has even taken to courting the support of embalmed Reaganites, rather than risk cultivating progressive policies. Still, it would be a good start (and a nice surprise) if she at least sticks to her (tame) pledges.

Bernie's seen something amusing on the right.

Lawrence Lessig (Dusty Book Sharer) - founder of Creative Commons and eager advocate of free culture. Is it any wonder his campaign stalled amongst the money men of politics?

Martin O'Malley (Young Old Spunky) - perfectly moderate candidate, but who had previously endorsed Hillary. Notable for his guitar-wrangling, in this particular talent show, he came, he was seen, he conked out. Should have brought the band.

Bernie Sanders (Breathless Wind) - many in America were energised by seeing the rise of our cycling placard monk Jeremy Corbyn, and incandescent finger-jabber Sanders looks set to cash in on Corbyn's success, as the US once again copies what we're doing in Britain six months later. The independent senator (or "enemy within")'s student support and Scandinavian-style policies naturally make him akin to Beelzebub in the dollar-imprinted eyes of rightward-leaning voters. Weirdly, there is a class of voter who would consider Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump their two main choices, suggesting that their free-floating anger is focused on establishment politicians rather than the super-wealthy.

Republican 1% Party

Ted chews over the big questions.
Second or third?

Jeb Bush (Bloodline Hanging Droop) - all the money, all the connections, and notably all the technology (still got those machines from 2000 gathering dust). Yet the public haven't warmed to him. That must suck his deposits.

Ben Carson (Tiny Knife Man) - with his knowledge of precise surgical technique, it has been pointed out that Mr Carson is entirely overqualified for presidency, which usually just requires a big mallet to whack down dissent. Still, he should be good at washing blood off his hands. Carson's campaign reached a standstill as he reached a standstill - in the wings at the introduction to a televised debate, with the cameras focusing on his every uncomfortable flinch.

Ted Cruz (Liberty Grabber) - feeling just a little bit misogynist? Just a tad racist? Just a smidgen asshole today? We present Ted Cruz, the watered-down Trump, a floating stain of ick. Pledging to make even bricks and mortar go out and find a job ("I want a wall that works"), pro-lifer Cruz champions the right to keep and bear arms. Kill for peace.

Out of his mouth fall
ripe squeezed nuggets of hate. 

Mike Huckabee (Talking Salvation) - I see the light! Ah, the fading of the light, the light at the end, the lights are going out, the last pinprick of light, nope didn't make it this time fella.

John Kasich (Heritage Car-Sick) - apparently this chump is mainstream Republicanism's last hope. Polite, gently stirring, harking back to a previous generation, could he be the John Major of this race and find himself propelled by others' desperation all the way to the top? Probably no.

Marco on the uppers.

Marco Rubio (Call Me Marco) - notable for his campaign putdown: "I wear heels bigger than your dick!" Fresh-faced, squeaky-cheeked Marco was tearing it up like Xmas wrapping on a Fisher Price playset, until he took on Trump at his own game: "I'm no-one's apprentice. You don't get to fire me. I'm a different company altogether!" to the confusion of thousands. Marco wound down his sputtering campaign with a sad-eyed rejoinder: "Guess I'm just too damn pretty for this race".

Marco on the buffers.

Donald Trump (Anal Vomit Leak) - fill in your own jokes. This thatched orange blob of hate has ascended to a realm beyond parody. Mr Trump has the sterling support of the demolition derby circuit, World Wrestling Entertainment fans, and all jihadis. It is merely hoped that the sheer poison of his candidacy might bring about the implosion of the Republican Party, before any more innocents suffer.

Come back tomorrow as the crack Beware! team attempt to pin down the candidates on severe policy matters.

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Sepp Blatter

Who in this transient, pitter-patter world really seeks fame? The sensible amongst us are more interested in power. Money obviously comes first, as it can buy everything else, but power is surely second on the list. However, power perhaps works best when it's not exposed to the harsh lightbulb of celebrity, or we may end up with our careful sandcastles eroding around us, as we hastily try to repack their foundations. And what of today's celebrity? What does he seek?

Sepp Blatter (Gold Trinket Chief)

Shifty Blatter.

This titan amongst minnows. This king of junkets. This septic warrior. This Blatter.

Born plain Joe Vipstick (March 10, 1936) in the University of Lausanne, he graduated with a diploma in dramaturgy and made useful contacts in law enforcement industries. The young Joe developed an unquenchable love for the manly sport of football. He loved the kicking, the heading, and the handling, but yet he had a hard vision: a vision of higher revenue, extended layers of management, increased corporate sponsorship, agency fees, and a sprinkling of old-man glamour. Indistinguishable from any other girl between about 1948-1971, in 1972 Joe cut off his pigtails and indulged this taste for power play. He joined the Swiss Journalist Association of Sports, the International Olympic Committee, the Freemasons, the Knights Templar, and finally took the FIFA presidency after undermining the previous leader. Mark down August 8, 1998 in your diaries; tear it out and throw it away. Blatter's expertise in satellite communication, global engagement, and silky-smooth backhanders, ensured the continued success of this bloated charabanc. Blatter had realised that the way to engage the next generation was through money. He was the first to notice untapped financial markets in South-East Asia and Africa, where business leaders and dictators were keen to exchange money for favours and attention-diverting sporting spectacle. Blatter split into two and "Sepp" maintained the public face, while "Joseph" brokered deals in private jets and late-night casinos. He succeeded in breaking in virgin territories with the powerful thrust of commerce, insider knowledge and the symbolically bloated "freedom glass". South Africa, Brazil, Russia and Qatar all indulged, at the same time undermining trust, public interest and employment conditions for ancillary and construction workers.

Shagged Blatter.

FIFA In The New World

"Style and panache is very important to bring the great football into Asia and (stable parts of) Africa. Athletes who have mental discipline can become educated types. Lavish life is to the betterment of law, and, ha, ha, Sepp has your best principles in mind. The Fates all agree that smart communication modulates reality and adjusts your heart. With this living theatre, you can enjoy having fun. Who doesn't enjoy having fun? But then it comes time to comply." This confused the English, who pointedly do not enjoy having fun, and only comply under restraint in a darkened room once an hourly fee has been handed over.

Stressed Blatter.

Blatter's dislike of the English stems from a 1992 Italian junket (funded by Silver Fox Berlusconi, 38-46-42) being disrupted by a bored Paul Gascoigne who set off the hotel sprinklers and vomited in the pool. In the coming years, an outraged Joseph undertook a stealth campaign to disrupt the nation's favourite game (behind cricket), leaking details of Terry Venables' back-room dealings just as he became England manager; conning Southampton boss Graeme Souness into signing a ludicrous no-hoper, Ali Dia, by giving fake testimonials in a succession of false voices (including his later rival David Ginola); giving free psychic advice as "Madam Blotto" for Glenn Hoddle; and poking holes in Steve McLaren's brolly.

In response to criticism that football exploited talented children before leaving them on the scrap heap, drunk and confused, Blatter arranged for 41-year-old Africans to sign up again as youth players. "A job for life". Who can argue? But football is backwards, and it was pointed out that 41-year-old "youths" would prevent 17-year-old youths from getting a game, as well as being awfully confusing, especially once they reach 65 and go round for a third time.

Zip Blatter.

FIFA In The Real World

Nowadays, Blatter has brought a long-needed edge to the round game of football by crossing it with the successful detective genre. Actors like Jack Warner (Dixon Of Dock Green) have been brought in for star cameos, with Jeffrey Webb of the Caymans giving a island-sized performance: "Prison again? No you Polack! Today we are going to heaven". Well-acted corruption trials in the United States (late for the party again) allow Blatter to perform his party trick as pantomime villain. "FIFA has responsibility for not only Christmas, but also Easter. You understand? Don't tug too hard at the golden tablecloth, or the golden eggs will be broken on the floor" (these being the Mitre Delta Golden Eggs, not available at Sports Direct).

Murdoch Blatter (mutation).

German satirical magazine Landlust published a swiped Blatter diary entry: "They still don't understand FIFA. Perfect organisation. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility. I admire its purity. A survivor... unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality." On Newsnight, Jeremy Paxman challenged Blatter fourteen times to confirm if he threatened to overrule Gordon Taylor. "I'm not wrong, it can prove to, prove to everyone that was bad, but not what he is, what am I, broken? What are you? I do not know the meaning of the question. I do not know the meaning of the question!"

Happy Blatter.

Five victims of FIFA were found drugged in a Jamaican titty bar. "Evil... needs to change what it can. And He was right, but I just nod when questioned. I'll take you to it now. You want power?"

Blatter has been studied hard. Vladimir Putin is an influential contamination. There is talk of relocating FIFA to St Petersburg. "Previously I used to recommend a more modern image, but this is football. Requirements are simply profit, international duty, and credulous fans." Putin called for US airlines to bankroll FIFA's education unit, if they suddenly loved football so much. Meanwhile, at the old FIFA HQ in Zurich, comic singer Leee John (from Imagination) was arrested for publishing blasphemous satirical cartoons on fake banknotes. In defence, he sang it was "just an allusion".

Angelic Blatter.

Blatter slapped down a broadside to Pope Francis I: "I own your gold cross, and you will bless me one day in heaven, which is built by FIFA people, but believe me: football gave me faith in the power of hell, and there is all the approval, on this world or the next." Wherever the struggle takes him, one thing is clear: "Sepp" Blatter is shining, and a new logo for football.

Recommended listening: FIFA Broadside by Keshco



Entry text: Adrian Darvell
Editor-in-Chief: Winston Obogu

Corrections, omissions, questions? Please leave any COQs in the comments.

Nase & Abel - I Flippin' Love Science

Nase & Abel mull over Elise Andrew's need to empty her potty-mouth on the Internet.

naseandabel-shortformat#4-page01 (written and illustrated by Gareth Monger)

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Scarlett Johansson

When researching a celebrity, it is vital to look beyond the established history 'they' want you to believe. Who are the famous people, really? And who are you? Do you damn well think you're God or something? Stick with Beware!'s impeccably-dredged profiles, and we'll answer both those questions.
 

Sarcastic Johansson. (Andy Brain)

Scarlett Johansson (World Picture Talk Queen)

Are you in New York for the first time? Perhaps you too will seek out Scarlett Johansson. This talented discipline of multiple truths is right across our media. Our media? Perhaps one day it will be her media.

Born in Poland and Denmark, October 22 1984 was a long day for future historians. As a child, this clear-eyed mystic befriended gusts of wind and was sensible for at least three minutes. "I'm sorry, she wants to be an actress" was the standard third-person brush-off from teachers.

New York's Silent Wood was an important food source for Scarlett's mother, who yet saw potential, repeating "I have to train your mind". Enough to send anyone potty. Scarlett went through many quality changes in seven years, implementing personal regulations on music and movement to prepare mentally for the challenges of superstardom. Crowned Metro Fire Mini VIP 1995, she auditioned at a cinema lobby and enrolled early in a law course which afforded more than 11 years of acting experience in a month. First came the north, and defective agents. Only images, emotions, and the actor Bruce Willis could steer young Johansson to a gliding future. Sean Connery and Kerry Ellis were her heroes; Willis less so. To add new players and paper cases, she gave acting lessons to urchins and gained influence points by proxy. Well, it's a means of entertainment.

Scarlett Johansson in the Movies

Wang Vs The World (1996) was the landmark legal case on which Scarlett first demonstrated power, free spirit and grace, selling an escape to the jury, and lead training 12 witnesses. The judicial community were astounded. "Change this menyeronokk woman!" But the high powers in Hollywood were listening. Scarlett was invited to audition for "Secret Debts", a process she dismissed as "just a 1998 horse race". It was a terrible tragedy. Meanwhile, rogue Christian film producers tried a rename gambit with "Scarlett 13:30", which only disappointed honest Bible scholars.

Obviously it would take more time to understand the nature and persistent grain of this future polymath. In 2001, her self-penned underdog-fantasy "Adventures of a Ghost" led to comic book stardom, and interest from the entire Greek community which persists in restraining orders and annulled marriages to this day.

Steely Johansson. (Andy Brain)

"The Fellowship of Rebecca Sun" followed, an art-house movie consisting of only two static repeated frames. Problems? Audiences thought so. Scarlett turned American; assuming three stage names to assist the vulnerable. The Manhattan University School of Manhattan bent over backwards to get Scarlett's sign-off for their atypical acting highway in 2003. She refused. There is no highway.

Scarlett changed career to develop a series of personalised translation products - launched in Laos, Vancouver, Tokyo, Luxembourg and girls, that sold without prejudice. While some of her earlier pictures were quietly changing hands for black-market release, "The Story of Translation" was an inspirational 2002 documentary on Esperanto in a changing world, involving an iconic sequence set at the Venice Film Festival featuring an aging and hesitant Bill Murray engaging strangers in this so-called universal language: "Saluton, kiel vi fartas? ...Under normal circumstances, especially with these hands, I knew I had to marry into Scarlett's games. Dio estas granda - sed li kovris min per ŝlimo". Marry he did, but once more it was annulled.

Only 27 days later, "Little Bagels" divided critics, fans and movie fondlers. Sofia Coppola had edited a whole film together from carefully-stalked CCTV footage, in stores and city centres, without actors' permission, in an attempt to quickly capitalise on the promo storm around "Translation". Scarlett's retaliation: "I fear the QEII now. I fear Walmart now. Where is the next camera? For inspiration, 1/5".

With offers of series, movies and gynaecological centrefolds, Scarlett Fever was created in many ways. Of course, all is fresh with the power of the magical story. Scarlett's new light, however, was a Toronto woman-film based on the concept of "happiness as an excellent weapon". "Bobby Robert", a sci-fi jazz fable starring John Travolta and composer Scarlett under the clever alias of "Scarlette", avoided taints of Scientology and viewers' eyes.

Relocated in New Orleans, Scarlett and her occasional glove Basil Brush saw out 2003/04 holed up with Italian fruit, Helen Hunt and Tom Wilkinson. A reconciled Sofia Coppola had joints to share, but Scarlett only desired to wake up, and abandoned her placement to teach a film course in Las Palmas.

Seductive Johansson. (Andy Brain)

Meanwhile, in 2004, for the first time, the film world realised that young women could provide recognizable characters. Scarlett is not the real price, but worth more in truth. She used her new gold Oscar lemon-stampers as part of a popular series of Tarot. "Man Of A Thousand Platinum Discs" was an excellent skewering of the media scene, co-prodded by Aaron Neville and Jack Harkness. A false run for the 2004 Democratic presidential candidate opposite Howard Dean (aka Howrad Dean) was the first sign of future stretch goals. George W. Bush: "American actressing was originally just a game. Now real men can play. Ms Johansson is a real man".

And, of course, in 2004, the concept of evolution was hotly debated. Scarlett lost a fair portion of glory embroiled in the academic literature and science goals of Oskari (creator of Jeskola's Buzz). Invited to take part in the quaint games of British society, Scarlett shunned the red carpet and went where even Marilyn Monroe had not been admitted. The dumb Calvin Klein proclaimed Scarlett "all scent"; Louis Vuitton countered with: "She is instability". With glowing testimonials like this, the call had to be coming. And it was! Legendary neurotic Woody Allen slashed his calendar with a letter-opener to accommodate Ms Johansson for the gonzo comedy "Hero Sword". It flopped! Still, "Songs and Bobby" made the opening morning of the Venice Film Festival, around which Scarlett flew slowly 61 times making onlookers vomit-inducingly dizzy. When the Hollywood Film Festival was cancelled due to flooding, Scarlett accepted a flurry of advertising: Island Records, Michael Laudrup Soccer Coaching and Calvin Klein's October promotion. Scent indeed. Reuters images showed a round hill with thousands of children and Scarlett as Jesus! Unbelievably the public swallowed it. Sales of rosary beads quadrupled overnight.

Scarlett Johansson in the Charities

A total of 20,000 girls applied to be Johansson for the day in a perception experiment. "We must be prepared for a mission in life," she said, opening yet another more-than-school. Families received skin rejuvenation, health and education direct from Scarlett (although music by the incontinent Justin Bieber) and she developed programs to understand Oxfam India and Sri Lanka (who have legibility issues) in 2007. Scarlett developed a new film, "Louis Vuitton", a skewering of the non-entity with deliberately unstable camera work and actors placed on tilting tables, with poor youth and recovery support. Families in India and Sri Lanka applied for roles in "Tsunami Malignancy" (2010) and home life women were arrested shooting this feminist opus which was quietly canned by the studio (legal knottage ongoing). Scarlett was dating gravel-seller Tom Waits by this point; the marriage was, yes, annulled.

Scottish Johansson. (Andy Brain)

An unexpected hit was 2013's controversial "Skin Storm" in which Scarlett played a face-eating racist recruiting Scottish men to work on her pubic forestry before gutting them, with accompanying wailing soundtrack by Morrissey (Grammy nominated). As a result of this slasher she was invited to head Oxfam and banned from Israel.

Her public appearances as head of Oxfam have included the Scarlett Diamonds campaign in Liberia, and a re-coupling with rubber shark and former Fonz, John Travolta, developing an expectation-reinforcing act based around appalling physical slapstick.

Scarlett Johansson in the Music

You may wonder where is the music now. Well the answer is in singlets. Specifically, the new band of Scarlett Johansson with Li'l Kim, Nana V, DLT, ABC, FYC, and Lee 'Kix' Thompson on sex. Playtex brought a lawsuit alleging the name infringed their rights to sell wispy crispy crackers. Legal advisers on the comments section of Yahoo pointed out that at least 20 other places have previously used the word singlets, and also that it was a stupid name. The band name was immediately changed to Keshco.

Scarlett Johansson is a real love story. She wants to know if "he" wants to go back. I would like to know as I want to go back, especially after accepting all the facts in the script of her life. They are necessary for the company, but it is important to show some respect. We do not have many good things and faces, and so for good work, we have to see Scarlett!

Entry text: Adrian Darvell
Editor-in-Chief: Winston Obogu

Corrections, omissions, questions? Please leave any COQs in the comments.

The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - David Hasselhoff

What do you want? Information. You won't get it? By hook or by crook, you will. Luckily, we have all the information you could ever need, in our growing village of international celebrity. No need for incarceration and torture.





 David Hasselhoff (Towering Ham Man)

Heroic Hasselhoff. (Andy Brain)

The Hoff is on your world television, idolised by men and women alike. But who is this Hoff? Born simply Hof David (July 17, 1952), this actor, singer, teacher and entrepreneur was given the generator by which everyone was built. He used it well. A horse and its own rider, he was, from 1980, as famous as the United States.

At college he learned to turn on the camera and think big. Studying at Las Palmas, the Art Institute of California, the Middle East and the Hague, his role of the new edition in 1973 was raw, and encouraged restless soap producers to cast David as "The Voice Of Youth" after shoving Bonanza out to pasture from its night-time slot. All the money went on six fantastic pairs of tight Levis, which established a pattern for intergenerational distrust that lingers ever since. After a poll of girlfriends, the alias Hoffman Hessel was created. In fact, the phonetic name game "Hesseruhof?" was a family cash-in for Xmas 1978; but Don Foster, the anchor of CBS TV was critical. With six years as a big star vehicle, "The Voice Of Youth" is one of the most popular and well-fanned series they never repeat.

Happy Hasselhoff.  (Andy Brain)

His "The Baywatch" opus, from which came sequel "Knight Tyme", grew out of David's eager fascination with the novels of Jane Austen. Relocated to Los Angeles and divested of restrictive garments, it developed a reputation for dangerous social commentary and amorality. "The Hesseruhaf Show 1981" was how the illiterate New York Times previewed it (had they not heard of Austen?). Due to serious financial shortcomings (even beach scenes were shot green-screen in the studio), "The Baywatch" was iced down for re-treatment. But David's strong thrust was barely halfway forward.

Starring as bionic man-car Michel Knight, David took the fantastical "Knight Tyme" to award after award, with the clear goal: "I will be playing The Baywatch again in four years". Production company Huofa Hessel were silent. Toy manufacturers rejoiced.

"Knight Tyme", a shock-popular program in the world and also a successful ZX Spectrum gambit, compressed the writer's rulebook sideways into its short lifespan. Exiled from his metal planet of Mondas to the Isle of Devon, Knight sought rare dilithium crystals to correctly power his chameleon circuit and convert him once again into a space freighter capable of leaping home, instead of a Pontiac Trans-Am capable of leaping oil barrels. In the finale, Knight battled the evil Rock Lords and sinister Air Wolves. A thousand schoolyards were insufferable with pretend car-robots.

Hollering Hasselhoff. (Andy Brain)

Side-stepping in the showbiz world, David was now often seen with guitar in hand and low-slung rock-star jeans. "As you can see, I am the writer and the music". Germany was impressed. The young Jack White sent songs to David to refine. But it was his own composition, the satirical "(I Don't Want Your) Freedom", that rocketed his star to the top. He was the vision of joy. Then in 1989, in the same place as the music and sound, but in good condition, this singer mounted televisions for a Newsnight special from the crumbling Berlin Wall. If only Nixon could go to China, only the Hoff could go to Berlin. "Hesseruhaf! Deutsche Hesseruhaf!" screamed the audience rendering anchorman Peter Snow inaudible. Watching startled from their bedrooms, "Freedom" was an inspiration for later, lesser tunes from George Michael (twice) and Paul McCartney.

Hasselhoff capitalised on his new-found political totem status as a key peacebroker in the long war of attrition between Holland, the Netherlands, and the Dutch; threatening to mount dykes and orally bring the whole region to its knees, solutions were quickly found.

Nudist Hasselhoff. (Andy Brain)

Emboldened by European love, Hof David truly became David Hasselhoff once the 1990s were safely overground. "The Baywatch" was revived as a vanity project. But what vanity! Now they used real beaches! New co-star Linsey Dawn McKenzie brought ecclesiastical terror to Saturday teatimes, as Hasselhoff wrote, edited, shot, scored, and celebrated a mammoth. Episodes like SM-shocker "Barbed Fantasy", the metaphysical "Rocks... And?", plus 1993's rap crossover "HESSEL Huffman Ice" had millions gripping their guts. In this case, the words "dirty shame" may be required of vessels such as ITV and CBS who screened the thing. Clap-o-meters rated "The Baywatch" and sales of Vaseline rocketed.

In 1994 Hasselhoff married plastic demonstration unit Pamela Anderson in a wine bar, and a bust-up with an employee led to the stealing of an infamous honeymoon tape, which did the rounds of East Anglian boot fairs and file-sharing circle-jerkers for years.

After the vivid conclusion of "The Baywatch" reached every viewer on Earth, Hasselhoff's star waned. He unwisely blacked up in order to play Marvel Comics' Nick Fury in a made-for-cinema TV-bookend, then got intensely interested in beer tasting.

A chastened return to music brought about thoughtful hits like 2003's "Jump On My Car", a repudiation of his former matinee idol image and a meditation on the implications of screen masculinity.

Suited Hasselhoff. (Andy Brain)

Recently, there has been ability to access the Hasselhoff. Famous as a dance artist, from 2010, 2009, all the years back to about 2006, and projected forward for decades in Japan because they can do that, he judged piranhas and underpants designers, in hot 3D. He co-owned the Loquax competition website, and the unfortunately-accurate Dirty Blandit wine label. Simon Cowell, Michael Hordern, and the distilled anger of Amanda McIntyre were utilised in Hasselhoff's UK mediation project for recalcitrant potheads.

Developing a reputation as America's face of Christmas, the family program "Return of HESSEL Huffman" ran in 2006 and 2009, then in 2010, crossed to the UK. Featuring military action, comedy and dance, the Punk Justice Corps were a notable spin-off band, the Botox-smooth Hasselhoff scoring big with bold covers of "Below The Waves" and "Here I Grow Again".

The media drinks a lot of alcohol, especially tabloid journalists. Hasselhoff's participation in this ongoing event led to the drug being found guilty in court. Alcohol was banned from the UK in 2012. We can all be grateful.

From a Q&A with the Grauniad in 2013:

- G: Very happy?
- DH: If you do this gentleman.
- G: In "this" there is a great fear.
- DH: It does not work, and can not, for this life.
- G: What is power?
- DH: The hypnotized; the island.
- G: What makes you happy?
- DH: I'm learning Latin.
- G: You prefer hot climates nowadays?
- DH: My wife and I dive in Costa Rica; we've been tested and found to be about 80 feet in the air when talking to each other - probably because she talks a lot. We are forced to use the air breathed by sharks, but I'm beautiful.
- G: Tell me a joke?
- DH: There was the Dalai Lama and a hot dog. He said "Okay."

What does the future hold? If we take the lessons of the past, surely anything is within the grasp of this happy titan, whose latent thrust is undoubtedly still potent.

Entry text: Adrian Darvell
Editor-in-Chief: Winston Obogu

Corrections, omissions, questions? Please leave any COQs in the comments.