7 Random Reasons Why Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Rocks

So, as a childhood Marvel and DC comics fan, over the last decade or so I’ve taken great delight in the fact that CGI in movies has progressed so far that you don’t actually have to suspend disbelief. I remember seeing the back projection outline when people were thrown off buildings, or the strings when The Invisible Man lifted things up. No wonder they didn’t make that many superhero movies back then. At least not convincing ones.

That it’s all possible to do seamlessly is old news, and the only thing that now holds writers and filmmakers back is their imagination and budget.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 has both in full measure. Here are 7 things picked at random as to why it rocks:

1) Little Groot. Okay, so it’s a merchandiser’s dream, but supercute Groot is joyous to behold, with his big eyes, his innocence and joyful naivety, there is so much potential for the bundle of laughs here. He’s the wide-eyed fool, and he’s hilarious.

2) That opening sequence that subverts the heroic form sets the tone. The show starts with the Guardians protecting some super-duper batteries for a race of gold skinned Sovereign aliens from an interdimensional monster made entirely of teeth, blubber and super-thick skin. But instead of doing the usual thing and focusing on the fight, it focuses on Little Groot’s dance routine. The juxtaposition is hilarious.

3) Drax’s one-liners. Boy oh boy, the writing team have really gone out of their ways to work up the characters for best comic effect. Drax, the alien who doesn’t understand metaphor goes through the show offending, irritating and genuinely making comedy gold. The deadpan delivery adds to the effect. I haven’t been in a cinema for a long time in which the audience is howling with laughter. Drax does it.

4) Rocket, the trickster. Rocket the Raccoon (“I’m not a Raccoon!”) is as super-sneaky, clever and selfish as ever, but now you start to see his “human” side. For a writer, this archetype is a gift. He’s straight out of Carl Jung, and he adds an element of chaos to the whole show. The script, indeed, the whole story arc, starts with one transgression from him – but he’s not all selfishness, as later events show. He intrigues and delights and builds wonderful empathy.

Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 2..Nebula (Karen Gillan)..Ph: Film Frame..©Marvel Studios 2017

5) Nebula. Ok, I’m going to make an admission. I got through the entire first Guardians without clocking that the blue-faced semi-robot alien with a psychotic streak was none other than Dr Who’s Amy Pond, aka Karen Gillan. It was only when the name jumped out at me on the credits that I clicked – and even then, I thought “Ah, maybe there’s a different actor with the same name, in the US”. Her American accent is pitch perfect, but more impressively, her angry, downtrodden, rage-filled character has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with Amy Pond. I genuinely wouldn’t have picked these two characters out as the same person. That is a tribute not only to the make-up team, but to Gillan’s skill in acting.

6) The visuals are sumptuous (as the picture above attests). There are so many visual delights in this show, it’s difficult to know where to start. Apart from the extraordinarily lifelike cgi, which means you genuinely think you’re watching interactions with real talking trees and real talking raccoons, the part where the designers let themselves go is fabulous. That is on the planet Ego, in which we are treated to a massive vista of impossible things that are beautiful and straight out of dreams. From wonderful colour-popping bubbles that greet them as they leave the spaceship, through the incredible animated fountain to the sumptuously designed interiors of the palace, everything is designed to a “T”. This show should win awards simply for visualisation.

7) The plot is both taut and hilarious. It’s a fine balancing act to get a genuine sense of comedy in a script balanced against a driving plot. If you watch many tv comedy shows, you’ll see that the plot is paper thin, while the comedy simply comes from the characters rubbing together. This has both. Add in the asides with Stan Lee (which are outside the plot for sure) and the extra elements that feed in to future episodes, and it is a work of brilliance.

So, there it is. Needless to say, I’m going back to watch it again with a friend of mine who writes comic books. Discussions after that should be joyous!

Easter Bunny calls for IVF to help with Easter Egg demand

The Easter Bunny says his homelife has suffered and he can't even afford a car to carry his children around in.
The Easter Bunny says his homelife has suffered and he can’t even afford a car to carry his children around in.

In a desperate appeal for help, the Easter Bunny has called for medical assistance in producing Easter Eggs.

The Bunny, renowned for his outspoken criticism of his employer, the Christan Church, said:

“You have no idea how much work it is shitting Cadbury’s Creme Eggs all year round without help. And to be frank, I’ve had it up to here as an inter-denominational Christian sex worker,” he said.

“People mistakenly think I am a made-up symbol designed to usurp pagan traditions, but I think it’s time we all faced the fact that whilst that is a convenient mask for the Church to hide behind, actually I do exist. And it’s hell being me,” he said.

“For years the Church has conveniently pointed to my eggs as a symbol of life resurging from cold stone, and to rabbits as a sign of fertility. They’ve liked to cleverly make out that somehow I don’t exist, with apologists saying I’m just a way of incorporating pagan beliefs into Christianity,” the Easter Bunny, otherwise known as Daryl, said.

“The fact that the eggs I lay require me imbibing copious quantities of the bitter Mayan Xocoatl drink which used to be fed by the Mayans to sacrificial victims before slaughter only muddies the pagan waters further. But I demand the right to be recognised. For centuries I’ve been a slave of the Christian propaganda machine. I have rights, you know.”

A spokesman for the Archishop of Canterbury said:

“What nonsense! Of course a talking rabbit that delivers eggs to children all over the world is made up. I mean, it’s ridiculous. It’s not like he’s a gingerbread man with wine for blood who can pull fish out of thin air, raise the dead and walk on water, is it?”

Pressed further on Daryl’s assertion that “If it got out that I do exist, everyone would think I was a miracle, which would completely undermine Christian religious teachings,” Archbishop Justin Welby fixed the Press conference with a psychotic eye and said:

“Now listen up. If da rabbit is making trouble, da rabbit will end up in da stew.”

Questioned as to whether or not the only way to heaven was by paying tribute to Jesus, he said:

“We are in da twenty-first century, buddy. Dat sort of ting is well out of date. We don’t do protection rackets. But I can say dis,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with his index finger and winking. “Dere may be a shortage of creme eggs in da next few years if you know what I mean. If dat rabbit knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his imaginary mouth shut. I’m sending out my flying bishops to have a little talk wid dat symbolic carrot-nibbler, right now.” Shouting over his shoulder, he said: “- Boys, get tooled up.”

Asked for a reaction to the Archbishop’s words later that day, Daryl the Easter Bunny was inexplicably unavailable for comment.

News: Nicola Sturgeon is leader of ISIS.

Ms Stirfry as a 1980s Kung Fu star.
Ms Stirfry as a 1980s Kung Fu star.

In a fascinating new twist, the Daily Telegraph has revealed that Nicola Sturgeon wants ISIS to take over Britain.

In a made-up memo quoting the Ambassador for Jupiter, Monsieur Figuement de l’Imagination, Ms Smorgisbord undoubtedly supposedly said:

“If only ISIS would behead the government and instate itself in power. That way we’d scotch two very real issues – Etonian biscuit-game-players bossing everyone around, and self determination for Scots. Remember, ISIS stands for Independent Scotland Independent Scotland, just in case you didn’t hear me the first time.”

Mr David Camomile said of these latest stunning revelations:

“I have long been seeking to portray Miss Sputum as a psychotic Claymore-wielding hobbit, but now she has truly been hoist by her own sporran. You really couldn’t make it up, but that’s because you are working class and stupid and work so many hours for no money that you don’t have time to make things up. Nor do you understand cynical media ploys, which are the reserve of the privileged few. Oh, and by the way, it was probably one of my friends at the Telecrap who actually did make it up.”

Leader of the Labia Party, Mr Ed Lilliput said:

“I was desperate for something to revive my flagging hopes in Poundland. This invented quote completely discredits Ms Sputum and the whole unjust, unfair Independent Caliphate of Scotland movement.”

Growing increasingly adenoidal, Mr Gastricband said:

“Do we really want a political system in which people who perform well in debates and don’t struggle to control their lips cheat at fair fights by being better at talking and thinking?”

Looking like a bullied schoolboy, he added:

“Really, it’s actually unfair.”

Mr Labia then cried and threatened everyone with his brother.

“Roll on independence,” he added. “We can all thank the Torycrap for that, at least.”

Give a man a fish…

“Give a man a fish, and his house will smell of fish. Teach a man to fish, and he’ll have cats in his bins for the rest of his life.” – Matthew Wingett

Give a man a fish, and his house will smell of fish. Teach a man to fish, and he’ll have cats in his bins for the rest of his life.

Signs and Wonders, 1: Rodent Racers

Red Squirrels: the shocking truth revealed in this investigative article by Matthew Wingett.

While driving in the Lake District last year, this little beauty of a sign caught my eye.

Although clearly not addressed to me, I did marvel at the intelligence of the Lakeland red squirrel; firstly at its ability to read, and then at its paw/eye co-ordination.

I decided to make further investigations, and contacted the Office for National Statistics regarding the number of red squirrels killed on the road in traffic accidents.

The results are shocking.

It turns out that a large proportion of red squirrel road traffic accidents are alchohol related, with dangerously high levels of blood-alcohol being detected in 45.8 per cent of red squirrel road deaths.

It is disturbing for nature lovers like myself to realise that the bucolic idyll of country life has such a dark underbelly.

Along with high levels of alcoholism in the red squirrel community are other addictions, mainly to nuts and acorns.  Squirrels have a tendency to hoard their nuts in all manner of places.  In fact, a recent survey revealed stashes of nuts in a field near Worthing, up a pig’s anus and in a cumulo-nimbus cloud.

The Red Squirrel Road Safety Action Forum, the Penge-based group of militant socialist squirrel-fanciers and road users also point out that the British red squirrel is in decline due to heavier traffic volumes in the last few years.

“The red squirrel has not adjusted to the new road conditions, and still imagines that we live in the England of the 1920s, when other furry British mammals, such as Ratty, Mole and Badger did not drive, leaving the roads open only to aristocratic, non-hopping amphibians, and squirrels,” he informed me, while fixing me with a slightly intense stare.  “But since rats, shrews and even immigrant gerbils have taken to the road, the high speed antics of the British red have led to just one tragic result: car-nage.”

In a secret location at the Dog and Duck in Penge, the spokesman also hinted at more sinister reasons for the shocking decline of the British red.

“Let’s be clear about this, apart from not being able to see over the dashboard and press the pedals at the same time, which makes driving inherently dangerous for the British red, we have to bear in mind that most squirrel mechanics are greys,” he hinted darkly.

“The American grey has the body mass needed to replace wheels, lift engines out of engine bays and service vehicles.  And…” he supped on his Babycham and checked over his shoulder to see if any rodents were listening before continuing. “They like to gnaw.  On brake pipes.  I bet that’s a statistic not held by the ONS,” he slurred as I plied him with more fizzy alcoholic drinks once fashionable in the 1970s.  “You know why?  Because the ONS is run by greys, too.  It’s a conspiracy.”

I was distracted from our interview for a moment by the sound of feet scurrying away from a table nearby.  Whoever had been sitting there had left behind no clue as to whom they were, except for an empty bag of peanuts and a copy of The New York Times, from behind which, the Penger assured me, “they” had been listening.

A call to the ONS asking for details on the amount of red squirrel road accidents caused by gnawed brake pipes received only a stunned silence at the other end of the line.  A query as to the species balance in the government-run organisation was followed by a high-pitched Texan rodent voice aggressively asking me for my name and address.

Meanwhile, a spokesman for the Grey Squirrel Mechanics Alliance was unavailable for comment.


Last night, I was awakened by the sound of the clinking of tools outside, and I looked down from my bedroom window to see small, furry movements underneath my car. It was clearly a dream.  I will be taking a drive in the country later today.