Have you ever looked at those fake, cheap photos you see in pamphlets and ads, featuring people standing there like idiots with their mouths half-open, feigning enthusiasm over a pair of socks, or a deodorant or a new medication?

Well, as a public service, we at BillySmash (thanks to Susan for her contributions) will start to supply you with the sounds the people in those photos would be making if those photos had sound. If that doesn’t make sense, just check out the photos below and click the little play button under each one to see what we mean. (Obviously you have to have your speakers turned on.)

Our first batch is from a pamphlet advertising the PlusBus, a combination train/bus ticket that you can purchase for traveling through London’s suburbs:

IMAGE 1: “What’s this PlusBus thing?”

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

IMAGE 2:  “Finding out about the PlusBus”

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

IMAGE 3:  “The satisfaction of getting on the PlusBus!”

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

**Apparently this mp3 player is a little buggy in firefox. Update to the latest version if you’re having problems, or (bleh) use Windows Internet Explorer.

I am Italian and I am American and I have lived most of my life in the New York metropolitan area. Judging from my supposed ethnic and geographic brethren to be found in this hilarious and embarrassing YouTube video, apparently I should have been condemned to a life of being a violent, moronic, tacky, provincial greaseball.

But maybe I really am a big white-shoe-wearing, hairy-backed, monosyllabic guido and I just don’t know it ! Maybe all these goombas think that in reality, they’re nothing more than colourful characters with an interesting cultural background hailing from a grand and sophisticated metropolis.

Judge for yourself.

Last night, I stopped a robbery at a cash machine near our flat.

I was out walking our dog Astro, (who is a tiny maltese- about 7 pounds) when I decided to stop and get some money. No problems, and afterwards I walked away from the machine and waited for the traffic light to change so that Astro and I could make our way home. That’s when I noticed two youths- one of them standing on the corner, looking around nervously, and the other walking over to the cash machine, where an elderly man was busy taking out money.

The second youth stood about 12 feet behind the older man, crouched down, trying to get a look at the PIN code as the potential victim entered it. I saw all this very clearly, because I had seen this scam/robbery once before and at the time I was upset with myself for not recognising it as a crime or doing anything about it until it was too late.

So standing there with my dog, I thought to myself, “I’ll call the police,” when just at that moment, the two youths did  something I didn’t expect- they moved in. They darted up to either side of the man, saying something to him and gesticulating wildly, in an apparent bid to confuse him so they could grab his card and/or money. It happened really fast, so with no time for calling the police, and worried about the old gent, I sprung into action myself.

My adrenaline flowing, I walked up to within about 6 feet of the three of them and started shouting “Hey, they’re trying to rob you!” The two punks immediately pulled away from the old man and started arguing with me, “What are you talking about, we was just…” But I didn’t give them a chance to finish, “You were trying to ROB him, give me a break. You know it and I know it, so don’t even bother- thief!” I was purposely being very loud, so that people around us were clear about what was going on.

Knowing there was no point in continuing to pretend to be good samaritans, or whatever excuse they were going to use, the punks quickly switched into aggressive mode. “F**k you you f**king f**ker,” they kept shouting at me.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I just stood there, half smirking (I’m really not sure why I had that look on my face) repeatedly, loudly calling them thieves. They were moving away from me slowly, calling me a f**ker over and over the whole time. It was broad daylight and there were people around, but it probably would’ve been smarter for me to have just called the police at that point, rather than shouting and staring them down, but I was angry, and they were scumbags and I wanted to let them know that I knew they were scumbags.

Both of them were about 19 or 20 years old, and I got the impression that they were brothers (they were the exact same size and build and looked alike.) They were each very short and slim, so consequently, I wasn’t really afraid of them at all, since I am anything but small and slim. In hindsight, a little fear would have been a good thing- after all, they could have had knives, and they were really, really angry with me for breaking up their score, but probably even more so for humiliating them in public.

That’s when it got a little pathetic. Seeing that I wasn’t in the least bit frightened of them, they decided to have a go at my dog. Seriously. They stopped calling me a f**ker and started talking smack to my dog. “Stupid little white dog- kill that dog kick that dog you f**ker. F**king dog.” I pulled Astro behind me, making it clear that if they wanted to hurt my little 7 pound dog, they’d have to go through his 200 pound 6 foot 4 inch owner. They were still slowly walking backwards cursing me out when I got out my phone to dial 999, since at this point I was worried about them even trying to hurt the little guy.

Seeing the phone out and me standing there unafraid (again, I was smirking, I’m not sure why) they scurried away like rats. I tried to talk to the older man who was still at the cash machine, but bizarrely, he wouldn’t look up or even to the side to see me or what was going on. I think he may have been deaf or something, so I just let it be and walked Astro home, being careful to look over my shoulder every once in a while to make sure the little weasels hadn’t decided to follow me.

If it was to happen again, I think I would handle it differently, but I don’t really regret what I did. It made me feel like Batman, or at least Robin for a moment or two.

No posts for a while, my apologies… but we’ve had a steady stream of visitors and I’ve been busy juggling freelance work with my hunt for a permanent job. But here are some pix of Pepper to keep you busy.

Also, on a completely unrelated topic, check out this BBC news story, HERE which is like something out of Hot Fuzz.

There’s more reason to be proud of America than ever before- We’re Number Two !

The common conception throughout the world is that Americans are the fattest, most violent, biggest polluters on the planet.  Well I’m pleased to report that three recent studies show that the citizens of the U.S. are in fact only the second most violent, second fattest and second biggest polluters.

Having pulled this information together, we Americans can now hold our heads high, and walk our fat asses up the street, dropping litter and threatening people with impunity- because we’re number two!

Who’s number one? I’m glad you asked.

Let’s start with the, ahem, biggest one: The fattest people on earth are from Australia.

The most damaging polluter on the planet is China.

And perhaps most surprising of all: the world’s biggest merchant of death (arms exporter) is in fact, Great Britain.

Congratulations to you Australia, China and Britain. You have made me, once more, proud to be American.

Recently, I did the unthinkable. I put money in a basketball pool on the L.A. Lakers to win the NBA championship. Last night, as the Boston Celtics (my long time favourite team) beat L.A. for the title, I feel vindicated and happy- despite being down £140.

Here’s what I was thinking: I hate Kobe Bryant so much, that I figured if I put money on the Lakers to win the title, and they won- then at least my personal agony is assuaged by getting all the money in the betting pool. If the Lakers lost, then my missed windfall seems a small price to pay to have seen my nemesis thwarted.

I placed the bet before the playoffs even started, and with the Celtics being the team that eventually managed to crush Kobe (and make him cry),  I feel my nefarious plan couldn’t have worked out any better.

Why do I hate Kobe Bryant so much? If you need to ask, you don’t know the first thing about him. Even Kobe’s teammates hate Kobe. His coach hates him. I think probably his momma even hates him. Go ahead and google the words “hate” and “Kobe” if you don’t believe me.  If you, my dear reader, think you feel any affinity for Kobe, well  then I hate you too. And you can consider the £140 loss to my bank account to be paying for your tears too.

(Since my strategy worked out so well,  I’m off to the betting shop to place money on John McCain to win the Presidential race and on Brazil to win the next World Cup.)

These are the actual words spoken yesterday by Fox News talking head E.D. Hill, referring to the photo below of Barack Obama and his wife celebrating his victory in the democratic nomination process:

“A  fist bump? A pound? A terrorist fist jab? The gesture everyone seems to interpret differently.” - E.D. Hill, Fox News. (Emphasis added)

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 This was part of a Fox News discussion about “body communication” that also included this image of George Bush chest-bumping an Air Force cadet- an action Fox described in this way:

- “it establishes rapport. That’s the bottom line. The president’s establishing rapport. He’s becoming more like them. I give him a thumbs up for these gestures.” –Janine Driver, Fox News’ Body Language Expert.

Keep in mind that Miss Hill was reading off a teleprompter, not speaking extemporaneously. So, a simple and common fist bump is seen by her to be terroristic if it comes from Obama, but Bush jumping around like a frat boy is a “thumbs up.”

But what if we apply an analysis of “body communication” to Miss Hill herself?  Here is an actual screen-shot of how she comported herself in giving this report:

Click the image above to see the YouTube video

My analysis: The unbelievably short skirt  is all about sex. There’s no office space in America in which someone wearing a skirt this short would not attract comment as being unprofessional. The pink colour of her ensemble is a counter-point to the lasciviousness of the cut of her clothes. She is playing the “virgin/whore” dynamic here, where she’s showing an inappropriate amount of flesh to make you think about sex, but the pink colour attempts (rather lamely) to maintain a wholesome image for herself. So we conclude that E.D. Hill would rather your mind dwell on copulating with her than listening to anything she has to say. Which is probably smart, because her introduction to this piece reveals her to be a racist imbecile.

That’s my “fair and balanced” analysis.

UPDATE: Comedy Central, as usual, actually has the best news report on this. E.D. Hill was in fact demoted by Fox News just yesterday. Read more HERE

It is a truism bordering on a cliche that Americans don’t understand cricket and Brits don’t understand baseball.  But did you know that baseball bats are actually quite common accoutrements in many British homes and shops?

It’s true- blighty is bizarrely awash in Louisville Sluggers. But here, they are kept solely for their utility as cudgels, not for hitting baseballs.  I find it strange that the people here don’t rely on their trusty old cricket bats for their self-defence needs- after all, they are roughly the same size and shape as their American cousins.  What makes the American baseball bat the de rigeur selection for bashing someone’s head in? Perhaps it’s the British admiration for the American capacity for violence. Or maybe cricket is just rubbish.

Another thing this expat will never understand about his adopted homeland: why aren’t there more types of cheeses? Amazingly, the British think they are cheese lovers, and if you go to your local supermarket, you will indeed find a variety of cheeses on display: Cheddar, Gloucester, Double Gloucester, Leicester, Red Leicester, Cheshire, Wensleydale, Derby. There is just one problem with this seeming cornucopia of dairy delights: all these cheeses are really just cheddar. I’m not exaggerating in the least. You can call your cheese double red gloucestershiredale, but if it looks like cheddar and tastes like cheddar, I’m sorry my friends, that cheese is nothing more than cheddar. Why all the artifice to produce and market a dozen varieties of cheese that are all minisculely different than the most common and humble cheese on earth?

I don’t know, but I suspect it has something to do with having France for a neighbour. With all their glorious fromages, the British probably couldn’t tolerate the idea of having only one cheese for the whole country. So to keep up with the frenchies, they invented a bunch of fancy different names for plain old cheddar.

Anyway, I’m off to bash a french cheese lover’s head in with my cricket bat.