Archive for March, 2010|Monthly archive page

The shit of the world[that might not even be there]

In jenn topper on March 28, 2010 at 11:06 am


So, it’s not Oli this week, it’s Jenn. But we’ve still got pretty much the same format as before; Headline followed by shit comment.

Let’s start it off with Philly…

                         Cops in beating get jobs back, free FOP beer; Suspects were cleared, too

Philadelphia Daily News

March 24, 2010

Yeah ok the cops beat the shit out of three guys after chasing them. While I’m sure this happens all the time, you may remember that a news helicopter captured the entire beatdown on live television. For all to see. And yet, the grand jury didn’t find any culpability…even with the video coverage. Read the rest of this entry »

The shit of the world [that might not even be there]

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on March 21, 2010 at 11:42 am


I don’t really want to be writing this, but no one else is stepping up, so it’s me or nothing. [Maybe I could get Tomomi to write it??]

Yeah, well, as I always say in the print mag, I don’t know much about politics or the workings of the world so I’m just gonna put up a few headlines or something and maybe write a comment or two. I don’t know, maybe the headline or story will speak for itself and I won’t need to write anything, but mostly, these headlines seem kinda slippery so I’ll probably write something so you don’t get the wrong idea…

We’ll start local and then ripple outwards…and local means Hong Kong:

                                      Hung Hom residents fear buildings are unsafe


This was taken from the SCMP [South China Morning Post], and as everyone knows..or at least I think they know…I don’t know, there’s seven million in Hong Kong, and only one percent of those are white people, so maybe not that many actually know…but I know, that this paper is shit. Look at the headline, it’s…what’s the word? Humourless. Like a machine came up with it. Read the rest of this entry »

The Three Coreys

In jenn topper, Uncategorized on March 18, 2010 at 12:00 pm

coreys three

It’s not that the world needs another Corey Haim (or Corey Feldman or whoever the fuck just killed himself) nostalgic piece of schlock, but it’s those personal experiences that can sometimes be compelling. Those stories you won’t hear about on Access Hollywood or read on TMZ are the ones that, well, right, there’s a reason you won’t see them there and you’ll see them right here at Gupter Puncher.

It was the summer of 1993 and Sixth Avenue in the West Village hadn’t been regentrified quite yet in Giuliani’s “quality of life campaign”. No Urban Outfitters, no Barnes & Noble, and no fucking Starbucks in existence. Just pure crackheads, schizoid homeless bag ladies, and a New York version of NAFTA set up along the street with people selling anything they could: string, used tampons, keys, sequined jackets, mismatched Adidas size 12. Those were the days.

We spilled out of the bar at kickout time, 3:45 am, when they turn on the ugly lights, in search of food–the usual routine. Aching for something fruity after 7 hours of drinking yeasty, we agreed on Grey’s Papaya King for a papaya drink and 2 hot dogs, the recession special at $2. Making our way through the crowd of hustlers, drunks and cops we grabbed our order and a couple of stools at the counter to enjoy the show. And that’s when we saw Corey. Read the rest of this entry »

Polanski in the water [Part 2]

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on March 14, 2010 at 12:03 pm


[If you’re reading, Roman, look away again now as it’s part two of your mind. And we’re going back in time.]

The Making of ‘The Fearless Vampire Killers’, 1967

The Professor was in the bed pretending to be asleep, that was set, and the girl was in the bath, naked, okay, and I was where I was supposed to be, and the assistant, what was his name?…he had the camera. Not that I could trust him completely, but he wasn’t incompetent, and he could follow orders, so everything was set. The keyhole was there, all I had to do was look through it. All he had to do was a mid-shot from the side. It wasn’t difficult.

We played the shot.

Behind the bathroom door, I could hear her singing. It wasn’t a bad voice, but she wasn’t trained, so it wasn’t great either.

Then she got louder.

What? I never told her to-…Jebana debilka…suki.

I got up off my knees and told the assistant to stop the camera.

Behind the door she was still singing, so I opened it and she looked at me like a startled rabbit.

I never told you to sing that loud,’ I said.

She put up her hands, revealing her breasts….but then realised it, and sank lower into the water.

I told you…softly, softly…’

Sorry, Roman, I didn’t-…’

Yes, yes, but don’t you get it? I told you. I instructed you and you didn’t follow. You see?’ Read the rest of this entry »


In Tomomi Leung on March 11, 2010 at 1:40 pm


Dude, it’s me, Tomomi, at the oscars.

Yeah, I did get in…I know Oli had his doubts about that, but I’m more capable than he thinks, y’know? Like, if they stop me at the door, I’ve always got a few lines up my sleeve to throw them off…and actually, they did stop me, and I had to think pretty fast, so I said I was Rinko Kikuchi, and, Holy shit, it worked…I mean, I’ll be straight up, I don’t look a thing like little Rinko, but I guess because we’re both Japanese I could get away with it…y’know, there’s only really one Japanese actress allowed in Hollywood at any one time…the rest of us have to line up at the sign and wait for Rinko to fuck up, which she seems to be doing her best at…playing a mute in a director’s second film? I mean, what the fuck? But anyway, right now, she’s the Japanese name on the list, and she clearly wasn’t turning up for Oscar this year, so there I was, pseudo-Rinko, sitting somewhere a little near the back but not too far from the front where the Streeps and Camerons lie… Read the rest of this entry »

POLANSKI in the water

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on March 7, 2010 at 3:01 pm


[Note: If any Poles are reading this, I’m sorry for slaughtering your language.]

the judge told me to stand up so I stood up, but he didn’t say anything, he just looked at me, and after a while he rapped his hammer against the wood and it-…it didn’t sound quite right so I looked back at my attorney, who wasn’t the same as he was a minute ago, he was now Ben Kingsley…and he nodded at me and pointed back at the judge who was still rapping the hammer against the wood, but when I turned back the judge was different too…he had turned into Morgan Freeman, or he had always been Morgan Freeman, and he was looking at me in a very harsh way which made me think, God, he’s after me, he’s fucking after me, and his hammer was after me too…his hammer, it was making a strange sound…not a whack, but a beep…a lot of beeps…

I put my hand out and felt around and found the beeping thing and pressed a button, and it stopped.

the hammer stopped and Freeman was telling me something I couldn’t quite hear, so I was about to ask him to repeat what he said, but then the volume came back and I could hear him, and he was telling me to come to the bench so he could tell me how guilty I was, and I looked back at Kingsley and he was gesturing me forward, but there was something wrong with him, he was sweating, and when I moved to the left a little I could see a woman behind him with a gun to the back of his head, and she looked distressed, and…and I knew her, didn’t I? It was…no, it couldn’t be…but yes, it was, it was Sigourney and…and Freeman was shouting at me to come to the bench again, and before I knew it I was at the bench and he was in front of me and above me, impossibly high up above me, and he was telling me again that I was guilty and what did I have to say about that? Read the rest of this entry »

Sitting next to FRANK [words by R John XP]

In R John XP on March 4, 2010 at 12:53 pm

Sitting next to Frank, chain-smoke billowing around the curved wine glass I slowly drained, in swigs and gulps. I stared at the inexpensive dark purple liquid and lit another cigarette as the other’s crushed ashes still smoldered. The overweight bartender, whose un-endearing propensity to misinterpret my late night mumbling for the tallying of the bill, waded back and forth, waving his arms in the agitated dance of his funny anecdotes. As the bar cornered, the conversation shifted between intimacy and lunacy, redundancy and tomfoolery. I was miserable, except for my wine.

– Dude did you hear about Dwid breaking his nose? Frank’s goatee looked solemn and concerned.

– No. What happened?

– Well, you know Blaze?

– Yeah. No, is he the guy, wait a minute, what does he look like?

– He’s a lanky kid with dark hair…

– Yeah, kinda oriental looking motherfucker?

– I guess, he wears baggy pants and those little loafers, so yeah, kinda kung-foo.

– Yeah, then I know the kid, he was playing poker last night at Sam’s party. He went to Europe with Integrity?

– I don’t know about poker, but yeah he went on tour with Integ, sure ‘cuz that is when Dwid got his nose busted. Read the rest of this entry »