creamygoodness

Blame the movies.

In the movies, whenever a family or bloodline or whatever has some secret destiny or terrible obligation, the last generation doesn't find out about it until their father/mother/older family figure lies dying in a puddle of their own blood. They then have to find out exactly what's going on from some old family friend living in a swamp somewhere. The prospect of this must have freaked my dad out somewhat because he told me when I was 6. I distinctly remember the occasion as I was watching Thundercats at the time so it all sort of ran together in my head. When I found out 6 months later that I wasn't going to get my own Sword of Omens I threw such a tantrum I vomited on the carpet.

So yeah, it turns out my family are descendants of the Sacred Guardians of the blah blah blah. I'm sure you've heard it before, we save the world on a regular basis from horrible be-tentacled gobshites from Dimension Thingy. I was all excited at the prospect to begin with until I learned that unlike, say, those Peterson bastards down the road, we've got kind of a low-rent legacy. No special powers, no enchanted swords, no magic spells. I asked my dad how I was supposed to fend off the hordes of ravening Kill-Bastards and he hands me a shovel.

The worst part was, even if I wasn't going to be spending my life busting demon heads with a sockful of pennies, my dad would probably be working me into the ground getting me to play the tuba, or football or some shit like that. He was never that good at the whole 'saving the world thing' as he had terrible asthma, he'd be stoving some giant squid's brain in with a brick then cramp up and have to take his inhaler. His brother had to step in a lot so I guess he came down pretty hard on me, living through your kids sort of thing. He was always putting me through my paces, getting me to practise with a meat cleaver, jumping out at me from doorways to test my reflexes, making me watch Will And Grace marathons to inure me to mental horror. Unsurprisingly I spent a lot of time in therapy. I started to long for normal father-son moments. I was so happy I nearly cried when he bought me a bicycle and told me he'd teach me to ride it. Then I really cried when he did so by wearing a Cthulu mask and chasing me down the street with a knife.

Secondary school was the worst. You know how awkward it is when you're just going through puberty, trying to find your place in the world, AND starting to like girls all at once? It was ten times worse for me. Seriously. I'd be out on a date with a girl, all nerves, bad conversational choices and an ill-fitting white shirt. She's veering between bored and giggly, I work up the nerve to make a move, I lean in to kiss her, she's not moving towards me, but she isn't backing away, I close my eyes, nearly jolt with excitement as my lips meet hers and BAM! She gets fucking eaten by something that looks like a bicycle mated with an armour-plated sloth! Then I'd have to kick it's fucking fangs in whilst still covered in potential second base's guts. THEN I'd have to call my dad and tell him we had another Code Blue and he'd come along with a tarpaulin and some bleach, then go phone the girl's parents. Let me just re-iterate that, roll it around in your mouth, get a feel for it, I had a fucking code for my girlfriends being eaten.

I think, in the end, that's why I rebelled. I wasn't going to let my parents run my life, I wanted to make my own way in the world, not be bound in by their expectations for me. So I cut my hair, went to law school and became a practising barrister. I hear that my uncle's son really took to the whole 'Sacred Guardian' thing, which doesn't help things between me and my dad. I still go and see them now and then, like at Christmas, for my mum's sake, but it's always icy conversation and 'If only you were willing to try a little harder with your knifework'.


Big Poppa Creamy's AudioGoodness

Goldblade - Simply Hardcore: Right, no mucking about. This is straight-up, fist-pumping, foot-stomping shouty punk-rock Why these guys haven't made it big is a mystery, not only does this song pass my patented 'does it make me dance like the rhythmless white guy that I am at 2am in the morning?' test, but they do it with a professional, enjoyable flair that would seem to appeal to a pretty large audience to me. munch, I'm looking at you here, click that link ya bugger.

Johnnie Burton - Hello Lover: First of all, I want to state that this is in no way influenced by the fact that Johnnie Burton is one foxy, foxy rock chick whom I would quite gleefully take a run-up at. Her sultry voice seems slightly at odds with this song about a relationship gone off the rails and floundering in limbo but still makes it work.

The Paddingtons - Sorry: The intro scared me. I heard the snorting sounds and confused, heavily accented mumbling and thought I was in for an Indie wankfest rendered into genius just because every band member was smacked out *cough*Libertines*cough*. Thankfully what I was in for was a slice of full on, vitriolic, old-school, snotty punk. Not bad for a band from Hull.