Hello humans! And welcome to a special freepost. Yes I’m lifting the lid on Lifting the Lid to give everyone a taste of bin juice in your weekend inbox. I’m nice like that.
So there’s a ceasefire in the Middle East. Not that you’d know it if you live in Lebanon. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some linguistic confusion going on and the Israeli government has a different meaning of the word ‘ceasefire’ - you cease, we fire. That would explain a lot.
I’m going to hazard a guess that you’d enjoy something a bit different. A bit removed from the usual news cycle. And I am galactically happy to oblige.
The first thing that caught my attention this week was a late Easter treat: it turns out that thanks to Polish software programmers, there is now a new video game in which you can actually be the son of God. I’m not kidding, this is real. It’s an open-world game like Grand Theft Auto, just starring the big guy. Check out the trailer:
Some commentators have been mocking the ropey graphics and the dodgy monotonous speech. (Have these people never heard a church sermon?)
My beef with this new biblical video game is the title. They’re calling it ‘I am Jesus Christ’, which is unforgivably dull and imaginative. So I’ve taken the trouble to suggest some alternatives. What do you reckon about these?
Immortal Kombat
Fortynite
The Legend of Zealot
Tomb Evader
Available exclusively on Praystation.
Which one’s your favourite? Let me know and when I’m elected I’ll force the makers to change the name. That’s the power of democracy.
[Yes, those puns were so good I couldn’t just hide them behind my paywall. but it’s just a tantalising taste of the boundless glory you can enjoy by TREATING YOURSELF TO AN UPGRADE and becoming a full subscriber. Make yourself and a humble space warrior happy, and get some full-fat Binface in your life for less than the cost of a London flat white! And I’m tastier too.]
I was taking a walk through the mean streets of Planet Earth the other night and I walked past a kebab shop. This immediately reminded me that it’s the Grand Nationals this weekend, and I’d like to use the opportunity to share my thoughts on this unique spectacle.
I’m endlessly fascinated by this big British sporting occasion known as the ‘world’s greatest steeplechase’.
Do you like the big race? Some people love it, some don’t give a toss, and others think it should be condemned to the scrapheap. In that sense it’s very much the Jeremy Clarkson of the sporting calendar…
I’ve never ridden a horse. We don’t have them on Sigma IX. But what we do have is a data file we stole from Earth: it’s a Grand National game released in the 1980s for the Sinclair ZX Spectrum computer, in which players get to control a pixelated horse and attempt to help it jump the mighty Aintree course.
I love this game even more than the Christ simulator. It’s almost impossible to stop the nags from crashing into a fence or collapsing from exhaustion, which makees it by a distance the most realistic Spectrum game ever made.
People in the racing industry like to stress how well horses in the sport are looked after - in between the bits when they have navigate lethal jumps. It’s worth noting here that on Friday, a horse called Golden Dancer died after winning a race at the Grand National festival. That doesn’t seem 100% fair to me.
As for horse welfare outside race days, I would love to believe they get looked after royally, and I don’t have empirical evidence to the contrary.
Well, I say that. There is a bit of evidence. One successful racehorse trainer is a bloke called Gordon Elliott. A few years ago, a photo was leaked to the press which pictured Elliott posing for a photo: he was smiling, doing a peace sign and chatting on the phone… while he was sitting on the body of a dead horse. Mmm. I know what you’re thinking. Swipe left.
The sporting world was naturally shocked and racing authorities decried Elliott’s actions. So what was his punishment? 50,000 Euros and a ban that was so lenient he was able to field seven horses in the following year’s Grand National. He’ll be saddling up to five runners in this Saturday’s race too.
I suggest an alternative judgement for Elliott. When I’m elected, I say he should he allowed to keep that fifty grand, but the horses that he puts into this year’s Grand National should be allowed to sit on him and pose for a photo. For as long as it takes them to dial a number on a standard smartphone. Fair’s fair.
If this was the old days, of course, and you wanted to threaten him mafia-style, you might leave a horse’s head on his pillow. But the chances are Gordon would love that. We’d be playing into his hands.
So how can we retain the magic of the ‘World’s Greatest Steeplechase’ without harming any of those wonderful, beloved creatures. I have a solution. Yes, you could do it using AI instead, but where’s the fun in that? Instead I say that the race should not be banned, but the qualification for entry should be changed.
Have you heard of the Mascots Grand National? It happens once a year, when all the giant furry mascots of sports teams up and down the country gather for a big obstacle race. This should be the REAL Grand National.
Gather up Gunnersaurus, Harry the Hornet, Scotty the Stag, Mr Bumble and the rest, and make those guys tackle the full Aintree Grand National Course. All four and bit miles of it. And let nature take its course.
Strange times call for strange measures. Think of it: Gladiators crossed with the Masked Singer, with a bit of Squid Game thrown in too.
It’s perfect, and it’s yet another reason why my manifesto is the greatest in the omniverse.
To all horses, riders, and your good self: have a galactically safe and wonderful weekend.
Peace and love,
CB x
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