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"For those of you who've never heard Glasvegas, imagine a Glaswegian band who can turn "You Are My Sunshine" into a thing that makes you want to cry bitter, painful tears of abandonment and endless bleak lovelessness.

In my pants."

I'm not sure the "In my pants" was strictly necessary, but it wouldn't be Ellis without it.
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Right now I'm sitting in the local, stealing Wi-Fi from someone who neglected to change their WEP key from the default setting (perhaps deliberately; who knows?), typing this with my portable keyboard into my Palm Tungsten and enjoying a tasty Guinness.

If only I were writing a bestselling piece of fiction; then I could truly say, "I feel all Warren Ellis-like"..
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The more I read Ben Goldacre, the more I'm convinced it's actually the extremely prolific Warren Ellis on another one of his random Internet forays.
The most important take home message here is that I got some very impressive swearing into one of the world’s most prestigious medical journals, and I have therefore won the internet. (link)
I'm pretty sure it was on one of Ellis' sites that I first came across the phrase "I have won the internet".
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via Warren Ellis: a tale of love and (with?) knitting. Classic. Sometimes I think Ellis isn't quite the curmudgeon he makes himself out to be.
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I picked up two more Transmetropolitan collections today: #8 (Dirge) and #9 (The Cure). For the first time that I can recall I was completely blown away by artwork (the black-and-white sequence of Spider inside his own head while he's unconcious), and I also spent a lot of time laughing. And when I got to the end of #9, which finishes on a full-page depiction of The Smiler no longer smiling, I actually felt like cheering for The Good Guys. This is amazingly brilliant stuff, and the only downside is that I'm just going to have to keep buying the rest of the damn things until I get to the end.
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If you thought I was being curmudgeonly about Paddy's Day, check out the inimitable Mr. Ellis:
From: WarrenE@aol.com
Sender: badsignal-admin@lists.flirble.org
To: badsignal@lists.flirble.org
Subject: [BAD SIGNAL]I Don't Care If You Dye Your Pubes Green
Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2006 09:46:31 EST

baddy o'signal
WARREN ELLIS

The next person to wish me a
happy St Pat's Day will have their
ISP anonymously informed that
they download pictures of dogs
fucking babies. I've slept with Irish
girls and gotten drunk in Belfast,
which makes me more Irish than
99% of you -- and, whoops, here's
the clue train pulling up to the
station, and it says I'm not Irish
and neither are 99% of you so you
can stick St Pat's Day up your arse.

If you want to celebrate St Pat's
today, eat a raw potato, build a
house out of peat and get yourself
shot by an Englishman.

And guess what? If you were born
in America, you're not Irish, you're
fucking American. Deal with it.

(Though I still advise American
tourists in Europe to tell people
they're Canadian at all times.)

This was your Daily Truth. Please
return to your duties. Thank you.





































Now that's curmudgeonly. Mr. Ellis, may you have the best of whiskeys today and every day.
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I clicked on one of Warren Ellis' "don't look" posts from my RSS feed. Because human nature is just that perverse. Fortunately, firefox chose that as a good time to crash.
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It's not every day that I read on Warren Ellis' site that someone of my acquaintance is a parent.
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There should still be a place in comics for people who smoke and
drink and take drugs and fuck inadvisable people and listen to bitter noise.
Amen to that.
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Golden Gate Bridge suicides chart via the inimitable Mr. Ellis. I'm intrigued by the fact that the most popular jump spot is at lamppost 69, which appears to be dead (!) centre of the piers but not actually centre of the bridge; and also by the people who jumped onto land at either end. Of course, I figure if you're hitting water after a 220ft drop, it's not going to be a whole lot different to jumping onto something more solid.
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This, I think, is Warren Ellis explicating on a previous comment that the weekend would find him (paraphrasing here) dead and ravaged by stoats.
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While Global Frequency on VCD makes for some fine watching, it's not a particularly good boot disk.
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So I finally watched the Global Frequency pilot that's been sitting [redacted] and all I can say is, "wow". It is totally awesome; there's only one or two clunky bits (mostly the dialogue concerned with the existence of Global Frequency and its justification, etc.) but the rest of it just rips along. Some good music, some fantastic lines, and I am so thinking of ripping the phone noise out of it and dumping it into my cellphone. Which, aside from being incredibly nerdy, is totally unlike me; as far as I'm concerned generally, a ringing phone should sound like a ringing phone and nothing more. I do recommend you somehow contrive to see this unbroadcast TV show which is, like, totally unavailable on any global interweb thing or anything illegal like that. Honest.
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Warren posts a recipe.. And it's not, like, something horrible that will make you gag just by reading it.
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I remember waking up one afternoon and reaching for my last cigarette, that a girl had written "Good Morning" on with a biro before leaving, and thinking: Christ, the world's got to be bigger than this. (link)
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So last night I dreamt that I was on the piss with Warren Ellis, and we'd no sooner gotten into a bar when he'd persuaded two girls to come sit with us, one with a Northern accent and the other Dublin, I think. Then he wandered off, and when he came back the bar filled up with people wearing soccer team shirts and scarves (blue and white; for some reason, the word "Millwall" bounced around my head) who proceeded to stab the ethnic staff in a really slow and casual fashion. At which point I very suddenly woke up with a racing heart. JEEZ, Warren. Turn off the frickin' brane ray.
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Warren (probably NSFW) wanted some new site logos. So I obliged (640x480 image) )
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A Present Without A Future

(cue from Warren Ellis, here)

It used to be that the future was as close to us as finding another meal, but we had moved well past that point long ago. Knowing the future became an obsession for us. We invested millennia in trying to find out what was coming down the line next. We tried mysticism, we tried drugs, and then finally we tried pure, hard science. When we finally cracked it, everything became visible to us at once; the whole future, laid out as plainly as a hand in front of your face. And once we'd cracked it for ourselves, we'd cracked it for everyone. You can't tweak the space-time continuum this much without affecting the entire planet. Some people went insane almost immediately, others just shrugged it off and claimed it was no more than they expected. The shock seems to have tapered off now, along with the suicides and the screaming.

Now there's just an ever-present present, pushing all the next into now.

We've broken the future.

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