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After an extensive covert investigation of the Crazy Apple Rumors headquarters -- yes, including the sheep harem and the secret cavern where they store the shroom pudding -- PerversionTracker can safely reveal that CARS Editor-In-Chief John Moltz is, in actual fact, Rowan Atkinson. As you know, given your disgusting fecundity of misfiring neural bundles, Atkinson trained as an electrical engineer at Oxford, but went on to temporarily become nearly famous for his comic roles as Edmund Blackadder and Mr. Bean.
As evidence for this outrageous claim, we present the following photos:
 Rowan Atkinson |
 "John Moltz" |
The resemblance, we are certain you'll agree, is complete and then some. Lesser publications than ours might have put forth the half-assed view that Moltz merely bears an uncanny resemblance to Atkinson. However, we here at PerversionTracker feel that the only possible answer to this enigma is that they are one-and-the-same.
We admit that we initially considered the possibility that Moltz might be a Giant Gopher, based on the following description: "Pocket gophers are voracious and feed on any type of vegetation found underground. They destroy food trees by gnawing away the roots, and they also ravage tuber and bulb gardens. They will severely damage vegetable gardens by eating soft leafy vegetables and ground-growing fruits such as young squash and unprotected Cabbage Patch Kids™. The damage they do has become so serious, in fact, that steps have been taken to destroy these animals wherever they are found."
While Moltz meets the description of a pocket gopher perfectly, and certainly inspires a certain maniacal urge for Whack-A-Mole-style pest control, we have no evidence that gophers are able to type or double-click, both skills which seem to be essential in constructing the Moltzian web of shoddy regurgitations known as CARS.
The tangled web of deception grows deeper; Consider this: The name "John Moltz" can be rearranged to spell "No MHz Jolt." Insignificant? Perhaps, but so are you.
Moltz's secret life.
When confronted with this irrefutable evidence, Jowan Moltkinson attempted to refute the claims, saying "Lies -- I only occasionally ravage tuber and bulb gardens!" He then broke down and admitted his deception, vowing to combine his two careers in the future. He is now planning to film a humorous sketch in which his head becomes wedged inside an iMac case, as well as recording a radio program in which he describes how to add a codpiece to the 20th Anniversary Mac.
Although the deal had not yet been completed at press time, the BBC has also reportedly expressed an interest in Moltkinson's concept for a "Mac Bladder" television series, where he plays a hapless computer user, in various historical periods, starting with the Apple II+, and going all the way up the present-day 17" PowerBook G4. PerversionTracker has gained access to a draft script for the first episode, where the Moltkinson's character has a humorous encounter with Open Firmware. Although the writing is Moltz's typical flabby uninspiring "prose," we expect that it will improve with the addition of his genetic endowment for physical humor.
We give the combined Jowan Moltkinson a 5.5, averaging a 0 for Rowan and an 11 for John.
What a busy life you have,
Oh boy, it's a busy life you have.
And I would need a map
Just so I could find the Nautilus machine.
Fat is very ordinary:
I know I was born to lead a double life
of sugar, beer and misery;
And when I find my abs,
I know I'll make sense of me.
I want to be buff, toned, muscle-bound and luscious.
I would have it all if I'd only had this app;
No need for Lucifer to fall if he'd lower his cholesterol,
by kayaking daily and eating nothing but kale and tofu.
I know the girls
That live inside your gym,
Just sitting next to a fatty makes their skin crawl.
I want to be buff, toned, muscle-bound and luscious.
I would have it all if I'd only had this app;
No need for Lucifer to fall if he'd learn to count his heartbeats
and track his cardiovascular health on the iMac screen.
I want to be buff, toned, muscle-bound and luscious.
I would have it all if I'd only had this app;
No need for Lucifer to fall if he'd download FitnessTracker
and burn a thousand calories a day just entering his stats.
Download FitnessTrackerPro 1.0
Zapyourpram, your lubricious attempt to divert our attention from important matters -- such as lying on the floor humming semi-rhythmically to ourselves -- in order to feed deeply personal data into an insanely byzantine device with more blank spaces than the collective CT-scan of our readership deserves nothing less than an 8.2.
(That last sentence would have been longer and more insulting, but we got winded.)
Oh, mercifully incorrect calendar, you are a glistening bowl of Lubriderm nestled in the cold seas of the moon. My prior confusion between Tuesday and Friday was previously attributed to Mad Dog 20/20, but now the blame can safely be reassigned to Arcobaleno's suavely stuporous software sophistry.
MrDiary craminates a calendar, diary, and contact database into a refreshingly inept single window. The main calendar view is completely inaccurate, having gotten the days of the week rather mixed up. Oddly, the diary manages to correlate dates with days of the week in a somewhat correct fashion. This postmodern juxtaposition of function and dysfunction is no less brilliant than sparkling crystals of urea interleaved with rich creamy chocolate.
One welcome design touch was the user interface that magically jumps to 2006 whenever any month-by-month navigation is attempted. This supernatural feature has been likened to "telling the future" by those who don't understand calendars. Heck, Arcobaleno2001 Software doesn't understand calendars either. Coupled with the groundbreaking "typing lockout" feature, MrDiary's repeat users are sure to be miniscule in numbers and brain cell count. Leveraging the massive power of the REALbasic frameworks, MrDiary also gains several complementary features, including the finely honed NilObjectException dialog. Rapid application development never had it so good.
Instead of randomly jumping from month to month when attempting to move to the next day, could we suggest instead switching between Mayan, Hebrew, Twilight Chicken Time, Chinese, Reformed Pule, Enhanced Sidereal Accuracy Proto-Grommetric, and Gregorian calendars whenever any navigation occurs? This, combined with arbitrarily choosing a date of historical import at some point in the last 3,000 years, would make for a far more agitating experience than the drolly mundane flipping from one pedestrian day to the next.
We can definitively say that MrDiary is the very finest REALbasic diary application written in Italy by a man named Francesco that we have yet reviewed. Its minty power soothes our Protestant bad-software-reviewing ethic as no mere creme egg could ever manage. In our experience, choosing between diary applications is like deciding between habanero-based contact lens cleaner, and a bracing pummeling of the nads. We speculate that the laughably inept calendar navigation may be a by-product of a half-implemented "leap fortnights" feature, or possibly just Chronic Wasting Disease.
Arcobaleno2001 Software, for not including a coffee brewing function in this brutish bit of nasty, we are forced to assign an 8.7.
Merely for the sake of theoretical argument, let's assume that you are a no-neck hebetudinous asshole. Your dead-end job is so bereft of mental stimulation that you are frequently tempted to stab yourself in the eye with a freshly sharpened pencil just so you can feel alive for a change. You have tried therapy, religion, tae-bo, penis enlargement devices, feng shui, and nineteen varieties of bran cereal. Nothing helps.
Late one afternoon you are surfing the web, terminally bored, hoping against hope to find a tender target for your acerbic reservoir of brain-vomit, and finally -- finally! -- you get lucky. A frail German craft, the ButtonPresser, drifts into the crosshairs of your periscope. Your hackles rise. A primal snarl forces its way through your heroically clenched teeth. You hear the big loud men shouting in your head.
You fire a warning shot across the puny bow of the ButtonPresser. "Take that," you mutter sardonically, "as partial punishment for your cracked misinterpretation of what is amusing to me." You receive a frantic staticky radio burst -- Das Leben ist wie ein Kinderhemd: kurz und beschissen! -- from the doomed vessel. You turn to your first mate (a man you crudely refer to as Fancy Nancy even though his name is actually Sweaty Betty) and venture a darkly poignant remark about the ultimate futility of war and REALbasic applications.
Then, as the comically dwarfish ButtonPresser bobs helplessly on the mountainous swells of the frigid and unforgiving North Atlantic, you launch a brutal attack: "Press the mouse button as often as possible in ten seconds? Oh, yeah, that sounds like a really exciting 'game' -- for a lobotomized CHICKEN to play!"
It's a direct hit to the goolies! ButtonPresser bucks and lurches like a drunken giraffe in a windstorm. Emboldened now, and remarkably red in the face, you move in for the kill: "ButtonPresser seems useless for the same reason that the Grand Canyon seems deep!" And the mortally wounded ButtonPresser sinks in Hollywood-style ignominy -- quickly, yes, but not TOO quickly -- beneath the icy waves.
Ooh, ooooh, you unfeeling bastard! No wonder all your coworkers hate you.
Because the ButtonPresser makes life on this fourth-rate backwater planet a tiny bit more absurd, and therefore a tiny bit more bearable, it has put us in a charitable mood. REALtobi, you have scored a delightfully misshapen 5.7. We trust you will cherish it forever, et cetera, et cetera.
Beeper Pro -- much like its predecessor, Beeper -- styles itself as a sound effects player. But unlike Beeper, Beeper Pro is touted as "customizable" and "expandable." After taking a flinty-eyed squint at the harsh reality of this application, we translated its description as: "Doesn't do anything unless you hold its widdle hand." In order to actually play sounds, you must first place a sound file into Beeper Pro's folder then type the filename into a text box and finally, perspiring heavily from the unaccustomed exercise, press "Add To List." We expected a slightly more exciting ride from the fun-loving creators of CrowdPleaser.
The delicate inner beauty of this craven capitalist venture is found in the fact that, like Schlitz beer, "President" Bush, drag queens, and so many other cruel cosmic jokes, it appears to be something it is not. Namely, freeware. You may wish to download this product in order to enjoy the meditative state induced by gazing upon a selection of buttons that do absolutely nothing -- and we certainly don't wish to knock the valuable mental-health applications of such "zen software" in these chaotic times -- but we prefer to obtain our transcendental succour by a judicious mixture of sunshine, fresh air, and heroin.
If you want to unleash the full potential (such as it is) of Beeper Pro, you must upgrade to Beeper Studio -- $20, or 216.19 Hungarian forint -- then shell out the spondulicks for sound effects packages at $15 a pop. At this time only four sound packs are available, including "bass riffs" and "drum loops," but they do come with the assurance that they're "all recorded buy us personaly." Sic sic semper excordis. Free samples are also available: we found the "drill" to be insipidly undercharged, while the temptingly-titled "urinal" was hardly worth the wait at 1.7 MB.
Paperweight Software, you are no heavyweight. Like your namesake, you are dull and boring and inessential. Unlike your namesake, you lack even the teensy redeeming virtue of being helpful in defending a messy stack of paper against a stiff breeze. You may think Beeper Pro is hot snot on a silver platter, but it's just another cold booger on a paper plate.
We affix a suspiciously moist 10.3 upon the termite-riddled portals of Paperweight Software. May it protect you from the baginis and hodags who nightly seek your blood.
FROM:MRS. LADAWA SESE-SEKO ATTN: I AM MRS.LADAWA SESE-SEKO WIDOW OF LATE PRESIDENT MOBUTU SESE-SEKO OF SILVERNETWORKS? NOW KNOWN AS SILVERNETWORKS, INC (SNI). I AM MOVED TO WRITE YOU THIS LETTER, THIS WAS IN CONFIDENCE CONSIDERING MY PRESENT CIRCUMSTANCE AND SITUATION. I ESCAPED ALONG WITH MY DUDE AND TWO HEAPS OF RUBBISH RABBIT AND CONEY OUT OF HOUSTON TEXAS (HSTN) TO MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE WHERE MY FAMILY AND I SETTLED, WHILE WE LATER MOVED TO SETTLED IN PROVO WHERE MY HUSBAND LATER DIED OF SANITATION STRIKE. HOWEVER DUE TO THIS SITUATION WE DECIDED TO RELEASE MY HUSBAND'S GAME OF DUDE DEPOSITED IN SWISS BANK DEPOSIT BOX AND MAKE IT AVAILABLE ON WEB PAGE FOR SAFE PURPOSE BECAUSE THE NEW HEAD OF SILVERNETWORKS OF (DR) MR LAURENT KABILA HAS MADE ARRANGEMENT WITH THE SWISS GOVERNMENT TO FREEZE ALL MY LATE HUSBAND'SOFTWARE DEPOSITED IN SOME EUROPEAN COUNTRIES. HENCE MY CHILDREN AND I DECIDED LAYING LOW IN AFRICA TO STUDY THE SITUATION TILL WHEN THINGS GETS BETTER, LIKE NOW THAT PRESIDENT KABILA IS DEAD AND THE SON TAKING OVER(JOSEPH KABILA). ONE OF MY LATE HUSBAND'S SOFTWARES IN SOUTHERN FRANCE WAS CONFISCATED BY THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT, AND AS SUCH I HAD TO CHANGE MY IDENTITY SO THAT MY SOFTWARE WILL NOT BE TRACED AND CONFISCATED. I HAVE DEPOSITED THE SUM OF SEVENTEEN CENTS (US .17) WITH A SECURITY COMPANY , FOR SAFEKEEPING. THE FUNDS ARE SECURITY CODED TO PREVENT THEM FROM KNOWING THE CONTENT. WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO IS TO INDICATE YOUR INTEREST THAT YOU WILL ASSIST IN FINISHING THE DUDE GAME, NO MATTER HOW ANNOYING IT GETS. I WANT YOU TO ASSIST IN PLAYING THIS GAME, BUT I WILL NOT WANT MY IDENTITY REVEALED. I WILL ALSO WANT TO BUY RABBIT CHOW AND RUBBISH AND ALSO FAST FOOD ITEMS LIKE CHEESEBURGERS FROM OTHER SAFE AND NON-SPECULATIVE RESTAURANTS. MAY I AT THIS POINT EMPHASIS THE HIGH LEVEL OF CONFIDENTIALITY, WHICH THIS GAME DEMANDS, AND HOPE YOU WILL NOT BETRAY THE TRUST AND CONFIDENCE, WHICH I REPOSE IN YOU IN CONCLUSION, IN THE EVENT YOU ARE INTERESTED TO ASSIST US I WILL LIKE YOU TO CONTACT MY LAWYER WHO I HAVE STATIONED IN HOLLAND TO WITHNESS THE GAMEPLAYING TO ITS CONCLUTION.YOU CAN REACH HIM ON IS DIRECT LINE WHICH IS +31-613 364 608 OR VIA MAIL lokoh_daniel@rediffmail.com HIS NAME IS DANIEL LOKOH AND I HAVE THE FULL TRUST IN HIM. I SINCERELY WILL APPRECAITE YOUR ACKNOWLEDGMENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. REGARDS, MRS LADAWA MOBUTU. SESE SEKO.
Duuuude. You get an 11!
No nation in the world makes beer like we do in Australia. Sit down, Texas! I've warned you before! One more outburst like that, and you'll have a family of rock wallabies living in that gigantic cave you like to call a mouth!
The Belgians have a fair crack at making beer, and the Germans, too, seem to know a little bit about it. The British like theirs hot and flat, which is the equivalent of trying to quench your thirst by sucking on the tepid bladder of a dead goanna. It might keep you alive for an extra day, but it's a desperate act! The USA makes the odd tasty brew, but in general the words "insipid" and "lite" leap to mind every time I think of a Budweiser or a Miller. (And I know you blokes are a bit funny on your spellings over there, but what in the bloody hell is wrong with "light"? It stops you from tripping over your knuckles in the dark, you Neanderthal scrotes! Fair dinkum!) American beer is possum piss, I'm afraid. When it comes to brewing top-notch beer, Australia is the only country that has more chance than a one-legged Rebel in an arse-kicking competition.
But beer is so much more than a tasty beverage in Australia. It's an institution, with regional, cultural and social variations aplenty.
For example, did you know that in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Queenslanders had the lowest rate of literacy in the developing world? Were the beer brewers put off? Of course not. They just labelled their beer XXXX (pronounced "Four-Ex"), and the Cane Toads (as they are known to the rest of us normal Aussies) have been happily pissed ever since. And just so the geographically challenged Victorians (Australia's Mexicans) could remember where they lived, their brewers gave their beers names such as Victoria Bitter and Melbourne Bitter. Reckon I'd be bloody bitter if I had to live there, too!
You can often tell a lot about a person by the beer he or she is drinking. For example, a Tooheys drinker probably drives a Holden car, wears ugh boots, stretch jeans and a flannelette shirt, and has never set eyes on the letter G: "What are you f---in' lookin' at, mate! Piss off or I'll job ya!" Social graces? I don't think so.
Your more refined imbiber, on the other hand, might drink Crown Lager. This gold-labelled BMW of beers is the tipple of choice for chaps who drive European cars, and wear pinstriped suits, crisp cotton shirts and silk ties. In other words, poncing bloody yuppies who need taking out the back and thrashing with an axe handle. Frankly, they shouldn't be allowed to drink beer! In fact, they should be deported, the bloody leeches!
OK, yuppies are people too. (Christ, that hurt to say!) And you had to pick the best thing about drinking beer in Australia -- and by the Lord Harry, there's a long list of possibles -- it's that everybody does it. Everywhere from the Melbourne Cup to the Birdsville Races, from the Sydney Opera House to strippers' night at the Fifield Pub, everyone from the Prime Minister to Greasy Joe O'Donell, the local Goggomobile mechanic and horse-shoer, can be seen rubbing shoulders at the bar, shouting their mates schooner after schoone of the golden brew of angels.
So when you come to Australia -- and don't think I'm inviting you, you foreign rabble -- just remember this: The quickest way to make friends, spend all your money, and wake up in the gutter with a pounding head and a mouth like the bottom of a budgie cage is to buy an Aussie a beer. They still won't like you, but you'll be as popular as a plate of lamingtons at the Sunday School fete.
And my rating for Aussie beer? A deliciously hop-flavoured 0 out of 11 (I'd give it less if I could), a perfect score, because do you know what I hate about beer? Nothing!