Dear Libyan Rebels

Well fucking done to the lot of you; a sterling effort all round. However, I can't help but feel the urge to apologise on behalf of the Western world. I imagine you could've got the job done in half the time if Doc Brown hadn't ripped off your Plutonium.


Regards,
Davis.

PS - What the hell is a jigawatt?

Dear Geeks, George Lucas

Lemme axe you sumthin’. Have you ever noticed, while watching the Holy Trilogy for the 450^th time, how totally ineffectual half the characters appear to be? For every Luke, Leia, Obi-Wan or Boba Fett who steps up and gets the job done, there seem to be a dozen wretched fools bumbling around the periphery, limping from one crisis to the next with all the sure-footed élan of a knackered Chicken Walker. Frankly, when all the facts are in, this initial period of galactic turmoil might just be considered the most shambolic ‘revolution’ this side of the time my mate Steve decided he was going to overthrow the Coalition by knocking up a Facebook invite to a riot in Bangor (Steve is currently serving four years at Her Majesty’s pleasure after a worriedly rushed trial). With this in mind, let’s ignore the ‘expanded universe’ for a moment – we simply can’t afford to get bogged down in back-story or speculative future endeavours when dealing with these dolts. No, indeed; going solely on the evidence presented in the original text, I hereby now present to you…

THE TOP 10 ABSOLUTE CRAPPEST CHARACTERS IN THE ENTIRE ORIGINAL STAR WARS TRILOGY

10) R5-D4 (A New Hope) Notable only for providing a neat ‘what-if’ plot twist in the original movie - otherwise, utterly useless. Among what are no doubt innumerable other flaws, has a “bad motivator”. Make sure you keep the receipt.

 9) CAPTAIN NEEDA (The Empire Strikes Back)

Who put this plummy Brit in charge of one of the Empire’s key battleships? The dubiously-ranked ‘Captain’ Needa (blatantly a political appointee to humour a more successful General father) is in command for all of about five minutes, and still manages to codge things up royally. I mean, a military officer who can’t fathom that a ship as small as the Falcon (which can’t possibly have a cloaking device) has parked itself on the arse-end of their massive cruiser? Unlucky to have been asked for an update on the pursuit at such an inopportune moment, but still - if I were Vader, I wouldn’t have bothered even listening to his apology. Sole redeeming feature an enjoyable pair of comedy nostrils.

 8) GOLD 5 (A New Hope)

Redundant Rebel Wally #1. Big on barking out short-sighted commands to “Stay on target”; not so hot when it comes to recognising that he might be being chased. “They came from… behind…!”? Well of course they fucking did – they’re hardly likely to be firing from bang in front of you, are they? According to ‘Yodapedia’, the character’s actual name was ‘Davish Krail’ – which is as wholly worthless a piece of information as you’re ever likely to be furnished with.

 7) PORKINS (A New Hope)

Redundant Rebel Wally #2. Big on being a fat fuck and insisting he can “hold it”; not so hot on not getting shot to shit as soon as it comes to the crunch. If it wasn’t the TIE-Fighters that got him, it would’ve been KFC which killed the beast.

6) WEDGE ANTILLES (A New Hope / Return of the Jedi)

Redundant Rebel Wally #3. The owner of more ‘Valued Competitor’ rosettes on his dressing table than any other character in the Star Wars universe, the thoroughly hapless and rather aptly-named ‘Wedge’ might just be the Rebel Alliance’s most prominent serial underachiever. He tries his best, bless him, but it’s a fair bet that he gets it royally ripped out of him whenever he’s drinking blue milk down the cantina with his buddies from Rogue Squadron for that time he had to pull out of the initial trench-run because he simply “couldn’t do any more good back there”. Manages to pick himself up for a successful second try in Jedi, but by this point it’s all a bit too much like a token inclusion because everyone feels sorry for him. Frankly, one gets the impression that he’s just a bit too nice for all this aerial combat malarkey anyhow.

“Where were you when they blew up the first Death Star, Daddy?”

“I was, ah… well, what you have to understand, son, is that it’s not the winning, it’s the taking part...”

5) EVERY STORMTROOPER EVER (all three films) 

Seriously, who’s in charge of their training programme? Throughout the entire three films, Vader’s army of white-hatted henchmen make the Keystone Cops look like a crack team of Navy SEALs. They trek around in large groups but never seem to actually go anywhere, completely fail to spot the droids they’re looking for even before getting bamboozled by an old biffer in a hood (were they not issued with CCTV images?), smack their heads on blast-door entrances, and apparently can’t hit anything unless their weapons are set for ‘stun’. I realise they probably “can’t see a thing in this helmet”, but come on now – even the cast of Police Academy were more efficient than this. “TK-421, why aren’t you at your post?” Let’s face it, he probably doesn’t even know where his fucking post is.

 
4) ALL THE OTHER BOUNTY HUNTERS THAT AREN’T BOBA FETT (The Empire Strikes Back) 

Granted, they’re a cool-looking bunch of bastards, and provided Kenner with a great excuse to get stuck in and sculpt their way to a small fortune in natty collectables. But as far as their own job performance goes, the Bounty Hunters really are found to be sorely lacking. I mean, these are supposed to be professionals, for fuck’s sake, and not one of them seems to even get close to the Falcon. Even Captain Needa caught a swizz of it at one stage. How hard can it be? Dengar, Bossk, IG-88, Zuckuss and the rest, hang your heads in shame; I bet half of them are still out there looking for Solo, merrily oblivious to the fact that an entire Death Star has come and gone in the interim. As it turned out, Admiral Piett was right: the Empire quite literally “didn’t need that scum”. If this were a task on The Apprentice, one suspects that Sir Alan would’ve fired the lot of them.

3) NIEN NUNB (Return of the Jedi)

What is he supposed to be, a hotshot pilot of some sort? Because the only discernible qualities I’ve ever seen exhibited by Lando Calrissian’s cockpit buddy are having fanny lips, a dead-eyed fish mug and looking a bit surprised once in a while. Even in the toy world, he was utterly superfluous – the plastic equivalent of that infuriating Panini football sticker you seemed to get in every packet and no-one wanted to swap (usually a third-rate Spurs defender like Pat Van Den Hauwe or Gudni Bergsson), Nien Nunb was the sort of action figure that even girls who weren’t even into Star Wars seemed to have stashed away amongst their Sylvanian Families. Still to this day I’ve got three of the bastard and can’t get rid of them for love nor money.

2) ADMIRAL OZZEL (The Empire Strikes Back)

As clumsy as he is stupid. Refuses to acknowledge a fairly transparent lead from an imperial probe droid on Hoth; gets lippy with Vader when called on the error; and then, to top it all, comes out of lightspeed too close to the system and alerts the Rebels to their presence. Poor form, sir; poor form indeed.

1) DACK (The Empire Strikes Back)

The ultimate Redundant Rebel Wally, neatly summarised here. Ill-prepared, inept, all talk and precious little action - in many respects, Dack is the embodiment of the expendable unknown soldier. If Hoth were Vietnam, Dack would be the fresh-faced young recruit who’d signed up voluntarily, makes all the grim-faced veterans laugh with his misguided ideals, then proceeds to get torn to pieces the moment he lands in the jungle. For someone who claims to feel like he could “take on the whole Empire by himself”, Dack displays a quite incredible lack of evidence to back up his bravado. Can’t get his approach vector set, develops a malfunction in fire control, fails to get a shot off with his harpoon and tow cable, then gets lasered into oblivion - all within the course of just three minutes of screen time. No wonder the Empire struck back – with chumps like this onboard, the Rebel Alliance needed to do some serious regrouping before coming back for another pop.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Still, I suppose none of them were Jar Jar fucking Binks or any young Anakin’s mates.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Courts, UK Government, Purveyors of COMMON FUCKING SENSE

What the hell next? "KAISER CHIEFS SENTENCED TO FOUR YEARS' HARD LABOUR"?


Four years each? FOUR YEARS EACH? I mean, fucking hell. COME ON.

Head-shaking regards,
Davis.

PS - This is genuinely the stupidest thing I've heard throughout the entire riot fiasco, and that includes everything that's come out of David Cameron's mouth.

Dear UK News Organisations

It's 2am, I'm quite pissed, but I'm going to take a bet right here and now that EVERY SINGLE FUCKING REPORT ON TOMORROW'S EXAM RESULTS will feature some permutation of the phrase "A-Levels getting easier".


"Kids getting smarter; adults don't like that".

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Universe, Both Inner and Outer

What would be nice, just once, is if the noise were to stop. Just for a few minutes. Nothing but quiet - silence, even. The muting of the frenzy. The quelling of the panic. Stasis to the feeling of perpetual railing, windswept, dizzying motion.


I don't know if I'm talking about sleep, the apocalypse, alcohol, God or Valium. But we could get along then, if only for that few fleeting moments of peace.

Turn down the volume. Halt the vibration. Bring order to the chaos. But please, do it soon, before the hysteria becomes paramount.

Yours, apparently,
Davis.

PS - Supposedly it all calms down a bit at 30? Ripper.

Dear George W. Bush

I know it's been said before, George, but you're a dumb motherfucker, aren't you? I mean, like, really, really dumb. I realise that it's pointless debating concepts as weighty as ethics or common sense with someone for whom "fostering a culture which protects the sanctity of human life" squares up directly against killing thousands of innocents in another 'just' war, but we'll let that slide for now. Let's talk money, wonga, casheroo.


Yes, George, for while I'll freely admit to knowing absolutely piss-all about economics, even I know that it's better to be in surplus than in deficit. How's that altruistic tax plan of yours working out now, having pissed it all away in a display of short-sighted expediency which even Mr. Magoo would've been forced to blink twice at?

Oh, George, I picture you now, sat at home on your million-acre ranch in Texas, feet up on the porch swing, kicking back with a non-alcoholic 'brew' while watching the deficit crisis unfold on TV. You turn to Laura, a look of bewildered, childlike innocence etched on your face, and limply enquire: "Did I do that?"

Yes, George, you did. You took the largest budget surplus in US history and turned it to shit. You plunged the country into various ongoing military crises which plundered the public coffers, gave back millions of tax dollars to the few who needed it least, and casually allowed your buddies on Wall Street to play Russian Roulette with the nation's 401ks because that's the 'beauty' of the free market. Well done, George. Well done, indeed.

The thing about not being able to see the woods for the trees though is that history will judge you, George, brutally so. You stupid, stupid motherfucker.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - I think it's time, in the light of this report, for even the most conservative ideologue to finally admit that money and America are two things which simply shouldn't be allowed to mix.

Dear Biffy

To prove that I’m not all hatred, I’ve decided to balance things up by writing you an open letter on this public forum. Why, I hear you ask? Because you’re absolutely bloody awesome, that’s why.

Moody; good beard; two really cool gingers.

That's right. I remember watching you as wee nippers when 57 came out, and it changing my life. I remember Blackened Sky providing the soundtrack to my darkest days, The Vertigo of Bliss blowing my tiny mind and Infinity Land contributing wave upon wave of sonic brilliance to the most pivotal moments of my existence thus far. I remember glitter, trauma, the middle-eight to Questions & Answers (unbeatable), the bird frapping herself on your album cover and that bit in Strung to Your Ribcage that went “FUCKING SAY IT!!! FUCKING SAY IT!!!” (not to mention the Q&A video where you carted each other round in wheelbarrows). I remember watching you perform Now the Action is on Fire! in any number of sweaty dives and thinking it was the best thing I have ever, ever seen on a stage. It still is.

Cover frap.

There are those who say that you’re not as good now that you’ve gone mainstream, that you’ve “sold out”, that you’re not as interesting any more. Well, that’s utter bollocks, and I’m not having a second of it. Frankly, I can’t think of any other act who has worked harder for their success, not to mention achieved it so stubbornly on their own terms, and I’m damned if I’m going to begrudge you a second of it. Besides, Puzzle is basically just the mirror-image of your debut album as filtered through a half-decade’s life experience, and it’s an absolutely bonzer record any way you slice it. My favourites will always be the first three, but that’s just because of what they meant to me at a certain time. The later ones are blatantly the best. Bubbles? AMAZING.

"Sold out", my arse. Stone-cold 'banga'.

You’ve mirrored the career trajectory of R.E.M. (slow build, big explosion, universally-recognised greatness) and the artistic path of Pearl Jam (several records of experimenting in a bid to define one’s sound, before ultimately finding the niche you’re most comfortable with and were probably always building towards – it was certainly there as far back as All the Way Down). And who out there is better to be compared to than R.E.M. and Pearl Jam when it comes to career builds? Exactly.

R.E.M. - also fucking whizzer. Singer possibly a Thalidomide with massive hands.

I watched your Live at Wembley DVD, and almost bloody wept. It was magnificent. How did my boys get to this stage? Like a teary-eyed parent sending their beloved off into the world, I’m so proud. You’ve risen to the occasion admirably, and if you want to continue putting out records as awe-inspiring, refined and graceful as Only Revolutions while performing to the biggest crowds possible, you have my honest, sincere and heartfelt blessing. We all know it should’ve won the Mercury. Indeed, great though it is, Eradicate the Doubt seems like a bit of a mess compared to Many of Horror nowadays anyway, and you still kick seven shades out of the competition live. A buddy of mine who clearly knows what he’s talking about texted me a two-word review while watching you at Glastonbury this year, which pretty much said it all. It read - “Biffy: whoah.”

Morrissey: a twat.

Oh, I know, there’ll always be the fly-by-nights at gigs who don’t know Justboy or get confused by all the choppy bits, but such are the perils of commercial success. At the end of the day, we’ll always have Bodies In Flight. We’ll always have 27. You belong to the people now, but I’m honoured to have shared your animal years and will always be grateful for the experience (though admittedly not as grateful as I was for the moment at Reading 2008 when you got a load of people to shout "Fuck you" live on Jo Whiley's show during an acoustic performance of Killing in the Name. She almost shit a lung.)

Whiley: clueless, clumsy, mumsy try-hard who shouldn't be on radio. Or telly. Or living.

You have conducted yourselves magnificently at every turn, displayed bull-headed integrity throughout your career and remain a shining example of how to maintain an honest and open relationship with your fan-base. Quite aside from that, you are just really, really nice blokes. THAT’s why I paid £50 for the limited edition Only Revolutions box-set, £86 for The Vertigo of Bliss on vinyl (eBay, admittedly – apologies that you won’t see a kickback), and shelled out a few extra bob for the extended Revolutions DVD package off your website. Above all else, I’m just glad to help.

Nice blokes.

If I ever got band logos as tattoos, it would go like this: Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine, Biffy Clyro. Inked on my body, for all eternity. I bloody love you, Biffy, and it’s not often you’ll hear me say something like that. So there you have it. Take me to your blackened sky.

Eternal regards,
Davis.