Tag: Murder

7 Reasons Modern Cluedo Is Murder

I’m not really paying too much attention as Rob sets up the game. I’m too busy hitting my phone against my knee in an attempt to try and make the Eurosport app work.

“Who do you want to be?” he asks.

“Colonel Mustard,” I reply. I’m always Colonel Mustard.

“You’ll have to be Jack Mustard.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s no Colonel Mustard anymore. It’s Jack Mustard.”

I get up and move to the table. I look at the scene in front of me. Oh crikey! Oh blimey! Oh deary, deary me! Cluedo has changed! I don’t like it. I haven’t even started playing yet, but I instinctively know I don’t like it.

1. The Characters. They’ve all changed. They’ve all been… modernised! Colonel Mustard is now Jack Mustard. A former football player come pundit. Think Jamie Redknapp. I don’t want to play Cluedo as Jamie Redknapp. But what are the other options? Kasandra Scarlett, an egotistical ‘actress’. Think Kerry Katona. I don’t want to play as her either. Then we have Diane White, a former child-star still waiting for her moment of fame. Then there’s Jacob Green, the former white reverend turned black cool dude. Eleanor Peacock isn’t much better. She’s the wealthy daughter of a former politician. Presumably one who is in prison following the expenses scandal. Finally we have Victor Plum, a video game designer and self-made millionaire. And they’re all tits.

2. The Weapons. Rope? Check. Candlestick? Check. Dagger? Sort of. It’s now a knife. Revolver? Check. Lead Pipe? No check. It’s now a baseball bat. A baseball bat?! If you’re going to update it at least make it a cricket bat! Spanner? No check. It’s now a dumbbell. And we have new weapons too. There’s some poison, an axe and a trophy. Which no doubt belongs to Jack ‘Wholegrain’ Mustard. Probably his ‘Knob Of The Year’ award.

3. The Rooms. Can I read a book in the conservatory? No I can’t. That’s because Kasandra has had the builders in and replaced it with a spa. Also out is the ball room, the cellar, the billiard room, the library, the study and the lounge. Replacing them in the Chigwell manor is a patio, a pool, a theatre, a living room, an observatory and a guest house.

4. The Cards. Apart from having a make-over, there are new cards. Intrigue cards. The name, sadly, defies their being. The Intrigue cards are formed of two kinds. Keepers and Clocks. Draw a Keeper card and you get to look at another player’s cards. Draw a Clock card and you might be killed off by the murder. If this happens you are out of the game. What’s wrong with that you may ask? Well quite a lot. I got killed off on my second go. Which meant Rob had no option but to make an accusation. He was wrong. Game over in four minutes.

5. The Name. It’s not even called Cluedo anymore. It’s called Cluedo: Discover The Secrets. Has there ever been a more unnecessary sub-name in the history of board gaming? Actually, in gaming full-stop? No, scrap that. Has there ever been a more unnecessary sub-name? Ever.

6. The Design. I won’t lie to you, it’s gone to tackville. The simplicity, charm and vintage style of the original has been thrown into the bin of class to be replaced by smug looks and bright colours. It’s abhorrent. It’s vulgar. It’s vomit-inducing. It’s enough to make Professor’s Plums shrivel.

7. The Result. I lost. I had never lost a game of ‘traditional’ Cluedo in my life. I was family champion year after year after year. I was so good that whenever I asked school mates if they wanted a game at break-time they would immediately say no and call me a ‘freak’. Yes, I was so good that they had to resort to petty name calling and writing false accusations about me on the toilet wall. This modern version killed me. Again and again and again. I will not be playing it again. Again.

September 5, 2011
7 Reasons Prison Transforms People

A lot is said about the prison service. Especially here in the UK. Many people seem to think that being an inmate is an easy life. You have your own TVs and a free day pass. In some cases, you even have your own dogs. Well, bitches. And then, when you’ve done half the time for your crime, you’re released. To be honest, this was an opinion I also shared. That was until the other night when I saw an episode of Porridge. I am now of the opinion that prison does indeed do what it sets out to do. It transforms people. Here’s why:

1. Fitness. Prison is full of bullies. There isn’t a nice way to say this, so I’m going to be straight with you. If you’ve got moobs, you are going to be teased. What better incentive is there then to get you doing pull-ups off the bunk bed? Prison gives you guns.

2. Art. You know what really states that you are not to be messed with? Yep, a tattoo. Not of a dolphin on your ankle, but a snake wrapped around your whole body. Probably accompanied by a skull. And a Millwall FC logo. Prison develops the culture vulture in you.

3. Crimes. Prison is all about reputation. The axe murderers aren’t going to look too impressed if you turn up and announce you’re inside for serial parking ticket evasion. That’s why, if you’ve still got them, you should use your scruples. You have to transform yourself into a different person. And that means exaggerating your crime. Yes, you are a serial parking ticket evader, but the only reason you evade them is because you stole the cars in the first place then reduced the number of traffic wardens on patrol. Prison teaches you to sell yourself.

4. Names. You can’t go to prison and call yourself Marc Fearns. Fearns? You’ll get a reputation as a right nancy boy. You can’t even call yourself ‘The Fearns’, ‘Fearnsy’ or ‘Fearnso’. So you have to be inventive. And call yourself ‘Terror’. Not because you are a little terror, but because it is short for ‘territory’. Which comes from the calling card you leave where you would usually place the parking ticket. The one that says, ‘Marc-ing My Territory’. Prison inspires creativity.

5. Goldilocks. Everyone has told you that long, curly, greasy, ginger hair is not the look, yet the impending prospect of a jail term is the only medium that will make you do something about it. You don’t want people seeing your mane as something to hang on to. Prison cures perms. And dandruff.

6. Gravel. Joe Pasquale wouldn’t last five minutes in prison. That’s not because his jokes aren’t funny, it’s because he sounds like a girl. You really don’t want a reputation as someone whose balls have yet to drop. Unless you’re a woman. That’s why you need to put on a deep, East End accent. Use Ray Winstone as your benchmark. Prison makes you a man.

7. Posture. At home you may readily bend down to pick up the soap. I have heard from some sources that this is not the thing to do in the prison showers. Something about getting slapped on the backside by a wet towel. As such, in prison, you should remain upright at all times. Prison transforms you into an upstanding member of society.

June 7, 2011
7 Reasons To Give Someone A Hug

Did you know it was National Hug Day today? If you are reading this in the USA then you probably did. It’s quite big over there apparently. In the UK though, it has failed to catch on. In many ways 7 Reasons are indicative of this sad situation. We are more the high-fiving kind than the hugging variety. Today that changes though. Today we hug. And you should too. Here’s why:

1. Tactical. You’re waiting for a tube, a train or a bus. And you’re not alone. There are dozens and dozens of others doing exactly them same. So many in fact that there is no way you are all going to get on. There is no way you are hanging about for another thirty minutes for the next one though, so you need a plan. What will get you on that tube, train or bus ahead of everyone else? Save for a machete, it’s hugging. If you start hugging everyone in that queue their urge to get on that next tube, train or bus will begin to diminish. So much so that they’ll be very happy to let you get on and then wait in the pouring rain. Just in case hugging is only the start.

2. Approach. We’ve all been in the position of seeing someone we quite like the look of. Someone we’d like to say hello to. Someone we’d like to become friends with. Maybe more than friends if you are particularly horny. But one thing always stops us. We aren’t quite sure what to say. While ‘Hello’ always sounds like a promising opening, if you can’t back it up with something else you are opening yourself up to look like a lemon. You wish that they would just come over and talk to you. That would be fine. The problem is, they are full of the same doubts that you are. They don’t really know what to say either. Which is why you both walk on, never to see each other again. It’s an opportunity missed. If this sounds like you, you need to bring out the hug. The next time you see someone you like, just walk up to them and hug them. If they don’t respond, step away and look shocked, “Oh my goodness!” you exclaim, “I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else.” They’ll understand. If they do respond though, just keep that hug going. No talking will ever be required.

3. Annoy Uncle Marc. If you know one thing about Uncle Marc it’s that he doesn’t want a hug. He doesn’t want a hug from you and he certainly doesn’t want a hug from your children. He especially doesn’t want a hug from the child that just spilled milk all down her t-shirt and then pooed on the living room floor. Get that child to hug him. His face will be priceless.

4. Warmth. It’s easily done. You are walking along the banks of an icy river when a swan starts attacking you. In your scramble to fight back you end up in the icy waters. In a bid to avoid death and pneumonia, you make it back onto dry land. Keeping your freezing and soaking wet clothes on will do you no favours, so you quickly strip and protect your dignity with a swan’s wing. You then go in search of warmth. Bodily warmth. Fifty yards ahead you spy a man and woman out for a walk. Naked, you run towards them. They are too startled by the sight to move out of your way, leaving you to jump into their arms and regain that much needed heat.

5. Strength. What better way to show small children that you’re far more powerful than they are than to give them a bear-hug? And, as you wrap you powerful, grown-up arms around them and squeeze the very air from their lungs, they’ll be really impressed. Then they’ll file it away in their memory and return the favour when you’re an old man which, as no one ever wants to hug an old man, will be a welcome event for you. Even if it does lead to your first incontinent episode.

6. Surprise. Rather unfortunately you have just bumped into the side of someone’s Mercedes. It’s not all your fault, the brake on your skateboard fell off before you reached the top of the hill. There’s still damage though. To the car. And your Sony MiniDisc. The driver looks furious. He’s getting out of the car and his moustache is quivering with rage. You have a choice. A) Skate away leaving him and the pieces of your Sony MiniDisc on the floor. B) Apologize profusely, saying you’ll pay for the damage. C) Simply give him a big old squeeze. The chances are he’ll be expecting you to do either of the first two, so by hugging him you momentarily disarm him. Once this is done, you can apologize or skate away. Whichever it is, he’ll be standing in the middle of the road wondering what the hell just happened. By the time he has realized, you’ll be hugging some other bloke half a mile down the road.

7. Fun. I was once told that I hug like a murderer as I favour the one-handed hug (leaving my left hand free). Obviously, at 7 Reasons (.org) we’re not going to encourage you to use your free hand to stab the person that you’re hugging. That would be wrong* and potentially hazardous to you, should you be foolish enough to use a knife with too long a blade. At least you’d die in someone else’s arms though. But no, what you should use your free hand for is to affix a note to their back saying “I stole this coat from orphans” or “Please kiss me”. That’s the sort of thing that makes hugging worthwhile and rewarding. Who wants a hug?

*Not to mention the consternation that it would cause our legal representatives.

January 21, 2011
7 Reasons To Stone The Crows

1. Farmers. I have never been a farmer, lacking as I do the necessary sheepdog and accompanying whistle. I imagine, though, it must be tough work. Tiring work. Frustrating work. Especially if you have ploughed your field and sowed the seed only to see a flock of crows engulf the scene. It’s at this point when you have a choice. Allow them to eat your livelihood or revert to the stones. Whichever you choose, you also need to invest in a better scarecrow. *

2. Rivalry. If you live in the city of Adelaide, Australia, you may well support Port Adelaide Football Club in the AFL. In doing so you immediately have a rival. They are across town and are called the Adelaide Crows. You may take exception to defeat at the hands of your nemesis and wish to take matters into your own hands. To, you know, bring some pride back to your end of town.*

3. Attack. Picture the scene. You are walking along the street, minding your own business, when an armoured vehicle rocks up next to you with crows on its roof. And when I say crows, I mean a Common Remotely Operated Weapon Station. You know, one of those things that you can mount a machine gun on and then operate from the comfort and security of the driver’s seat. If this happens you need to get prepared. If he starts firing you need to use whatever means you can to fight back. And chucking stones at the crows might be your only hope. Good luck.*

4. Words. The collective noun for crows is a murder and, if we take that as some sort of corrupted historical instruction, we should be killing them. Now, shooting them would probably be the best way to do this but, as most of the 7 Reasons readership is based in the UK, there probably aren’t that many gun-owners among us. This would leave us furiously hurling bullets at them (which would be expensive) or desperately searching for alternate methods of killing them. Though they live in trees and rope is in plentiful supply from chandlers all around our island nation, hanging them isn’t practical as crows can defy gravity. Basically they’d just flutter about for a bit then fly back to the branch we’d hanged them from so, in essence, we’d just be tying crows to trees. Where they live anyway. This really leaves stoning as the only viable option.

5. Australia. In Australia, where the phrase stone the crows is said to have originated – or should that be aboriginated – the crows eat lambs. That’s right, lambs. Now I haven’t been too close to Australian lambs, but they seem like quite sizeable creatures to me. And frankly, if I lived in an upside-down land where large black birds were capable of swooping up from the sky below me and killing animals that are the size of human babies (which apparently have enough to fear from dingoes over there as it is), I’d be ready to stone them too. Or I’d go even further and rock them. What’s more, being English, my throws would have a better chance of hitting them than the natives’ efforts.***

6. Do The Right Thing. Crows are the proper animal to stone. I – before I corrected a spelling mistake – spent an earlier paragraph exhorting you, the reader, to stone the cows. But cows are definitely not an animal that you should be stoning. They’re large – surprisingly fast – and would probably become quite cross if you were to hurl stones at them. Not to mention the possibility of being shot by a furious and ruddy-faced farmer. Stoning cows is wrong. Stoning crows is right.

7. Kia-Ora. Remember the Kia-Ora advert where crows impersonate a hobo-child’s dog to relieve him of his Kia-Ora, despite his protestations that it’s too orangey for them? You’ll know if you’ve seen it, the music will still be reverberating round your head over twenty-five years later ready to surface when you least expect it to. Or want it to. Which is never.

Enjoy!

And now we all probably want to stone the crows.

*7 Reasons would like to point out that we do not condone the stoning of crows whether they be real crows, the Adelaide Crows or the Common Remotely Operated Weapon Station.**

**No, on second thoughts, fuck them. Stone away.

***We can probably keep this up until the next Ashes series in 2013.

January 17, 2011
7 Reasons That You Shouldn’t Knock on the Front Door When I’m in the Bath

Yesterday, while I was bathing, someone knocked on the front door. They shouldn’t have. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Doubt. I’m lying in the bath. I’m wet. I’m not about to get up to answer the door, it’ll be bloody cold standing on the doorstep with only a towel around my waist and five chest hairs to keep me warm, so of course I’m going to lie here. But what if it’s important? What if there’s a gas leak and they’ve come to alert me? What if the house next door is on fire? What if the police have come to warn me that there’s an axe-murderer on the loose?

2. Foreboding. What if it is the axe-murderer? I’m alone in the house with my cat. An axe-murderer wouldn’t be satisfied with hacking the cat to death, that wouldn’t even be murder. That would be animal cruelty. That would probably be an assault to the dignity of the axe-murderer: It would be a demotion from axe-murderer to cruel man (with axe). He’d be a laughing stock. He would be shunned by the other axe-murderers. That would never do.

3. Fear. What if he’s the sort of axe-murderer who doesn’t want to chop me into a barely identifiable pulp of blood, flesh and sinew right away? What if he’s the kind that’s on the run and wants somewhere to hide for a while; menacing my cat with his axe in the living room while I tell the police at the door that I haven’t seen anyone and that I’m alone in the house? I don’t want one of those. It’ll be hours before my wife comes home and I can hide behind her. Hours.

4. Terror. What if he needs to hide out for a couple of days? What in the hell would we feed him? We’ve had snow here for two weeks and the shops haven’t had much in; all we would have to offer him are vast quantities of limoncello and Twiglets. And I doubt that axe-murderers even like Twiglets. After all, I bloody love Twiglets and I’m the total opposite of an axe-murderer; I’m a no-axed-not-murderer, or as we’re more commonly known, a victim. So, the axe-murderer will have lots to drink, but nothing to eat. So he’ll be drunk, and he’ll be cross. He’ll be a drunken, angry, axe-murderer which, I rather suspect, is the worst sort.

5. Twiglets. What if he does like Twiglets? Because these aren’t just any Twiglets. Oh no. These are the Christmas Twiglets. The Twiglets that I’m not allowed to touch. The Twiglets that no one is allowed to touch, or even gaze directly at for a prolonged period. Not until Christmas Twiglet season begins at 9pm on the 24th of December. I’ve made that mistake before and there were consequences. And now I know better than to breach the sanctity of the Christmas Twiglets. In fact, I seem to remember that, following the incident that has come to be known as Christmas-Twiglet-gate, my wife told me that if I ever ate the Christmas Twiglets again (outside of the clearly defined time-frame) that she would kill me. So that’s it. It’s Hobson’s bloody choice. If the axe-murderer likes Twiglets I can either tell him he can’t have any and he’ll kill me with an axe, or I can let him have them and my wife will kill me without an axe (with a handbag probably, or her soup). Basically, I’m fucked.

6. Reflection. When was the last time I saw an axe-murderer? I haven’t seen any for ages. I don’t think I’ve seen one since The Shining. There used to be loads of them. Absolutely bloody loads, but their numbers seem to have declined. They seem to have had some sort of heyday in the late 1940s when they were menacing Fred MacMurray and Ida Lupino in a remote California farmhouse most weekends, and then their numbers appear to have dwindled away to nothing. So, in all probability, it wasn’t an axe-murderer that knocked on my door about sixty minutes ago.

7. Resolution. My fingers are wrinkly, I’m cold, and my left knee has literally turned blue. I have other things to do. I’m supposed to be writing tomorrow’s 7 Reasons piece. I’m not even supposed to be thinking about the Christmas Twiglets. I’m not allowed to do that until the 22nd. You’ve just stolen an hour of my life and caused me think dangerous thoughts and turned my knee a funny colour (somewhere between cobalt and Prussian blue). Damn you, whoever you are/were. Next time, I’m coming down in my towel. To my death, probably.

December 9, 2010
7 Reasons John Lennon Could Be Deemed A Philosopher

Today marks the 30th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. And to celebrate we take an irreverent look at some of his finest work. If you are easily offended by lyric assassination, please walk away now.

The Young Lembit Opik

1. Imagine – “Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky.” Yep, I can imagine there is no heaven. I have replaced the ‘Heaven’ sign above the pearly gates with one for Lidl. I’m not as keen to get there now. As for imagining there is no hell below us, I can go one better. I can see a carpet. But that’s why Lennon was a philosopher and I am not. His version is much better than my, ‘Imagine there’s a Lidl, it’s painful if you try. A carpet down below me, above me a ceiling.’ It lacks both meaning and rhythm.

2. I Am The Walrus – “I am he as you are he as you are me, and we are all together.” Seriously, sometimes Lennon was so in-tune with the world around him, that he is far too intellectual for me. I mean, this goes straight over my head. Something about walruses. And apparently he was as much of a walrus as I am. Which is news to me. But I guess that’s philosophy for you. It should always tell you something you don’t know. It should always get you thinking differently. Otherwise what is the point in it? You may as well go down the pub and play darts.

3. Norwegian Wood (The Bird Has Flown) – “She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere, so I looked around and I noticed there wasn’t a chair.” I’m not quite sure if this is a metaphor for ‘don’t go out with stupid women’ or this particular lady had just been burgled. And that, I suppose, is philosophy again. It takes a certain amount of intelligence and time to work out exactly what is meant. And I have neither.

4. All You Need Is Love – “There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.” Wow. This guy just blows my mind. How true is this?! You can’t make a cup of tea if you can’t make a cup of tea can you?! But if you can make a cup of tea then you can make a cup of tea! Extraordinary. Extra-bloody-ordinary!

5. Eight Days A Week – “Eight days a week I love you, eight days a week is not enough to show I care.” It’s very true. There are some people out there you love 110%. There are some people you would give 11 out of 10. For these people, they surely live in an eight day week world. For the rest of us, we’ll remain in our normal seven day week world, loving people 100% and giving their risotto 10 out of 10. We also won’t sound patronising. But that’s because we’re not philosophers.

6. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds – “Newspaper taxis appear on the shore, waiting to take you away. Climb in the back with your head in the clouds, and you’re gone.” I don’t think anyone can disagree with this. If you are seeing newspaper taxis on the shore, then you are almost certainly gone. You may also want to work out what you’re actually doing in the sea. If you are on a dustbin lid, you probably want to think about getting rescued. Unless you are on a dustbin lid on a cruise liner. In which case, I don’t want to know you. You’re weird.

7. Strawberry Fields Forever – “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.” Quite right. Just shut your eyes. Actually, open them again, finish reading this, and then shut them. When you shut your eyes you can see different coloured shapes floating around. And just how how often are these misunderstood? I often think I can see a T-Rex humping a sheep. I can’t. They’re just shapes. According to the psychiatrist.

December 8, 2010