Approx Reading Time-11Monday morning. Save me now. What happened while you were asleep? Duterte threatened to leave the UN, the Boomers missed out on a medal, and a movie remake rolled to an empty audience.



Duterte threatens to leave UN, ups crazy stakes with Trump.

Oh, that Roddy. The politician formerly known as Dirty Duterte has struck once more, acting in response to an insult levelled at his much-publicised plot to end drug trafficking with a governmental shiv. The UN took rad umbrage with Rodrigo’s plan, stating “Human Rights”, so, Duterte has claimed that he’ll just exit stage left in regards to the General Assembly.

For doing the political snagglepuss (look it up) in this manner, surely the laurels of geopolitical crazy should be slipped off the tangerine bonce of you-know-who (err, Trump – Ed), and onto the fists of The Punisher (another of Duterte’s myriad nicknames – Ed). Honestly, and I’m deadly serious here, no more calling Duterte “The Filippino Trump”; Trump is now the “American Duterte”. With a slight effort from everybody, we can all make change in our time. Et Cetera.

There’s an interesting side plot to all this chicanery. There must be a wide cross-section of drug traffickers in the Philippines nervously cheering on the iron fist of the United Nations, so they could continue selling their product. Surely that hasn’t happened before.


Boomers come up short in Rio, but it matters not.

Laugh. Laugh, you smug American bastards. Congratulations on winning again. We’re all massively impressed in how you ride into town, high on the waves of athletic greatness, descending onto the courts of the modestly talented to thrash us all one-handedly, before smirking at the top step of the podium, grinning that telling grin – you know, the one that tells us the squandered victory that we savoured so, means so little to the victor.

Just look at this statistic, ffs.

A 76 game win streak. Fuck right off.

But! There is a silver lining in all this sweary drudgery.

Yes, the Boomers missed out on a medal, narrowingly being closed out by an ageing Spain this morning, and yes, they folded like a deckchair against Serbia, but that is mostly irrelevant. Spain will never be decent again, the US will rage on, as a team portrait in an attic somewhere grows ever uglier, but come Tokyo in 2020, we’ll be rather dangerous indeed.

Don’t pass this off as optimism born from the hellish flames of shamed defeat, oh no. Ask any ‘Murican. The 2020 edition looks rather bright. And I’m talking hypercolour t-shirt bright. The electric pass factory Dante Exum. The man who has the height and agility of an inflatable man used to market used cars, Thon Maker. Ben Simmons, the man who can’t shoot right now, but can do this:

And here’s his dog:

Note: The above pooch is owned by Ben Simmons, an activist from Edinburgh.

Ball up!


Ben-Hur flops bigger than…Ben Hur?

Props for those of you who are awake enough to see that metaphor dragged through the dirt, with its leg tied to a chariot. In the pantheon of great and terrible Hollywood remakes, etch the name Ben-Hur upon the wall. But make those walls CGI, and make the writing pop, yeah? Mmm. That’s good cinema. I apologise, it’s early, and I’m using my dislike of remakes as an excuse to rebel against the hour that it is. Sozzles.

Anyway, those who exhumed the corpse of Charlton Heston decided that the book o’ Jesus would grant them a fiduciary second coming after Noah made $362 million (or 56 arks in old money). But as it turns out…well…not so much.

Against a $100 million budget, the return so far has been a tenth of that. Now, the problem could be scripting, acting, CGI, or perhaps trying to saturate a movie market drowned in the combination of swords and sandals. J’accuse 300, and the 300 ripoffs it spawned.

But we at TBS feel there might be something else at play. Timur Bekmambetov (I wanted to write his name), who directed the film, has another title to his name in Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. No dispersions on the film (haven’t seen it), but how can a heretic, one who triumphs the murky dealings of Beelzebub’s salesmen to become the head of state, also steer the virtuous Jesus subplot. Fishermen with paternal issues and political vampires with an axe to grind, strange bedfellows do make.

To be honest, that remake has already been done.


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