The Chinese Birth Control Policy

Only one of these kids is legal. Probably.

The Chinese. Again. this time it’s to take a closer look at their birth control policy and what unforseen effects its having on the land of illegally copied goods.  Ironic really. They stop you reproducing kids, but reproduce a designer handbag, or a car, and you can knock yourself out, mate – make a million of ’em! So take a listen to my rant from the weekend where I have a go at our epicanthically-folded friends!  There’s also a song “Just one more”. Just Click on the player at the foot of this post.  You can also listen live to Bayradio by clicking on the listen live icon below. I appear on The Sunset Strip with Noelle every Friday night around 9.30 pm CET, and it’s repeated every Sunday around 1..30am CET on The Sunday Brunch with Bob and Noelle. But if, heaven forbid, you miss them, you can always check in here to listen again.

Kev Moore

Too Soon for Christmas – The Bay Radio Rant

Hi there, errant listeners. Here’s last week’s Bay radio rant. This time, I turned my attention to the annoying custom of beginning Christmas in the middle of frigging September. Have a listen by clicking on the player below, and don’t forget you can listen live to Bay Radio, by clicking on the listen live icon.

Kev Moore

Human soup – Last Friday’s Bay Radio rant!

You too could have a body like, not Superman, the stuff in the can......

As always , dear reader, if you can’t be arsed to listen to my rant when it goes out, I usually post the soundfile here the following week. This week, I turn my attention to the nutters who came up with the idea of turning us into soup as an alternative to burial or cremation.  I’m not kidding. Check it out on the player below. And if you want to check out the excellent Bay Radio live, broadcasting the length of the Spanish Costas from Valencia to Almeria, just click on the listen live logo.

Kev Moore

Mastercard or Papal? – His Cup Runneth over……

His cup runneth over…..

Let me put my cards on the table so you know where I stand. I’ve always had a problem with organized religion. I believe it is a tool to control the predominantly easily-led masses, and perhaps in less enlightened times you could argue its efficacy. But nowadays?  Catholicism is a bloated self-righteous colossus, bestriding the globe and commanding the unquestioning loyalty of millions of followers. It lives by an outdated doctrine, and often tries to bury the corruption within. But more importantly it is run from a sovereign state, The Vatican, whose coffers overflow. If there is a God, does he not turn his face in repugnance at the bloated cash cow this world religion has become?  We, as the great unwashed, could perhaps turn the other cheek in any other era, but we are in the middle of financial and economic meltdown as country after country seems to be going to the wall.  So into Madrid  flies The Pope, the figurehead of this huge, wealthy religion, the bill for his entourage and trip  footed by the embattled and fragile economy of Spain. Yes, that’s right, for the privilege of kissing his ring, this country will further plunge itself into debt. Well, he can kiss mine.

Small wonder that demonstrations by the Spanish people are taking place to protest, quite reasonably in my opinion, that he delve deep into his own substantial pockets and foot his own travel expenses.  If you feel you can’t afford it mate, stop at home, there’s a church in every town, we can say ‘hi’ there.

Post script:

This article recently appeared in The Sentinella magazine, and attracted some controversy, and it was claimed that the money for the visit was raised by Pilgrims and various other means, but that’s missing the point. The Church itself STILL DIDN’T DELVE INTO ITS COFFERS, AND THEY STILL GOT A TAX BREAK. AAARGH!

There were three letters of complaint sent to the magazine. All from members of the same family. Their surname? Pratt. God, if there is such a thing as an invisible sky wizard, does indeed move in mysterious ways. They also were looking forward to my ‘attack’ on the Muslim faith. I can assure everyone, I am an equal opportunities kinda guy when it comes to Organized Religion – I think they’re all bananas. I refer you to my song:

You couldn’t make it up……oh, wait a minute, they did…..Creationism as a tax loss

"We're gonna need a bigger boat....."

I’ve just discovered via Michael McKean’s excellent twitterfeed, that the state of Kentucky is allowing a 75% tax discount for the next 30 years to a Creationist Theme Park called ‘Ark Encounter’.

If you haven’t ‘encountered’ the Creationists before, let me explain. They believe God created everything, about 2,000 years ago and that we used to share the planet with dinosaurs. At the same time. Yep. America is a country so diverse it has people with the intelligence to put man on the moon, and people who have the intelligence of moon rock.

This, let’s be frank for a minute, bloody MENTAL idea for  multiple tax breaks for the amusement park catering to the terminally deluded, come at a time when Kentucky families are struggling from eight rounds of state budget cuts over the past three years. That includes cuts to education at all levels, a pay freeze for all teachers and state workers, and reduced funding for Medicaid.

Kentucky apparently already has a Creationism Museum, and the complementary amusement park includes biblical exhibits like the Tower of Babel and a full-size replica of Noah’s Ark…complete with – yep, you’ve guessed it, dinosaurs inside! It’s due to open in the spring of 2014. What I want to know is, how can they tell it’s full size? Have they got Noah’s blueprints?

I used to be scared about Islamic extremists getting their finger on the Nuclear button, but they pale into insignificance next to these guys.  I imagine them, when faced with scientific proof, standing in congregations with their fingers in their ears going “la la la la la – I’m not listening!” And I don’t know who’s the scarier, the nutters who built it, or the ones who cut them the breaks.

Kev Moore

I’m sorry, but it’s Religion again….

The Last King of Scotland, apparently.....favourite colour probably not Orange, then.

I’ve just been reading about the assault on Neil Lennon. Apparently, he manages a little-known Scottish football team called Celtic. A geezer who supports Hearts (the football team, not the anatomical pumps) attacked him calling him “A Fenian bastard”.  This is newsworthy, apparently. Now, I know one side of this childish, stupid celtic (not Celtic FC) religious divide likes the colour Orange – I assume it’s Lennon’s, because he’s ginger…but then most Scots are ginger, so…I’m confused. All this “my God’s bigger than your God hail hail rock’n’roll” or some other bullshit is REALLY BORING. Anyway, my point is:


Kev Moore

The God Theory:Revisited

This is a true story: There was a Spanish guy, who last year, was involved in a very bad car crash, who managed to survive. A year later, he decided, along with his two Aunts, to set out from his village on a walking pilgrimage to visit and give thanks for his survival to the Virgin Mary.  I don’t know where she lives in Spain, to be honest….probably not Benidorm, can’t imagine there are too many virgins there….anyway, he and his aunts had barely left the outskirts of his village when all three of them were run down by a truck and killed.

If God has a favourite TV programme, it’s probably JACKASS.

Kev Moore

My Bottom 10

Dr. Seuss's Twat in a Hat

The internet and magazines are full of people’s “Top 10” music artists, guitarists whatever. I thought, in keeping with the mean-spirited-ness of this blog, I should share with you my bottom 10. They’re in no order of de-merit or anything. They’re all equally shite.

1. ENYA.

The Irish quasi-esoteric, newmuzak warbler seems to have EXACTLY the opposite effect on me from the one intended. Her music is meant to relax you, calm you…they use it in Health spas and retreats for God’s* sake. But with me….well, I must be wired up wrong, because whenever I hear the doe-eyed floaty bird I want to leap up and punch some f*cker. It drives me crazy!  “From Bali, to Mali to the shores of Tripoli” -aaaargh! Piss OFF!!!!!


It was a sad day for music when DJ’s suddenly found they had the power to become the stars they’d always pretended to be. Likewise music journalists. The day Neil Tennant put down his pen and ceased writing for the mighty music tome that is “Smash Hits” was a sad day for music indeed. Standing there, warbling like an effete wet dishcloth, with a totally disinterested geezer in a hat stood next to him trying to figure out what the black keys do on a keyboard, he inflicted The Pet Shop Boys on us. The only thing in his favour is that it was a stupid bloody name, and therefore he telegraphed some kind of warning that the music would be shite. And, oh, how shite it was! How could we have known that “West End Girls” would be the best thing they did, and it would actually go DOWNHILL from there???  His effeminate talky wishy-washy rap style just raises my hackles, and, as with Enya, I want to kill and destroy.  Worst lyric from Mr.Tennant that verges on giving me an embolism? “Picasso and Debussy to a disco beat”  aaaaarrrrghh!!!  aaaaaarrrgh! SHUT UP YOU FLOUNCY TWAT!!!!


“You’re beautifuuuuullll”. Am I?  You’re a twat.


“Hey, I’ve got a great idea! I’m going to sign this big fat hairy greek who only wears kaftans and sings like a castrated goat – the housewives will LOVE him!” The really scary thing is, whichever misguided individual uttered those words in a record company office was actually right. They say the 60’s was the decade of drugs, but I’m telling you, millions of 70’s housewives must’ve been speeding off their tits to enjoy this garbage.

5. ST.WINIFRED’S GIRL’S SCHOOL CHOIR – “There’s no-one quite like Grandma”

Has anybody researched the possible correlation between this record and the proliferation of High school massacres? We should be told.


“Step away from the hamburger – and while you’re at it, stop covering shite ballads”


It dosen’t have to actually be DJ OXY, it can be any of these (usually Dutch) wanker DJ’s who make dance manure for the great unwashed as they fry their brains in Ibiza, Aiya Napa and other bachanallian bollox. The tracks usually comprise some computerised puerile nonsense they’ve chucked together in about 5 minutes using “my first programming machine” and then they chant some bastardized English vocal over the top, like “Dance all ze sexy laydees, yes?” People buy this shit. Once again, I blame the drugs.


This is the multi-headed Irish twatbeast created by Louis (I’m going to inflict shoite on you forever you English bastards) Walsh. You only have to watch the frenetic attempt at dancing, the pathetic attempt to please you, from an embryonic (abortion?) Boyzone on The Gay Byrne show (I don’t think the show was targeted at homosexuals, it’s his name, but spooky though, eh?) and you can see the ‘raw material’ he had to work with. The ‘achievement’ of Westlife in beating The Beatles record of the most Number Ones was THE defining moment in pop history for me. It was the day the music died. Don’t EVER play me the chorus to “I’m flying without wiiiiiings” I WILL kill somebody.


At least she was predictable.

10. PLAN B

Further proof, if it were needed, that Britain’s youth is under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs. This arrogant little oik, bereft of talent, has been feted by the likes of Elton (I’m still cool because I associate myself with modern bollocks that should be flushed down the) John, has something of the Emperor’s new clothes about him. I feel like I’m the kid pointing and shouting “Look at the twat! Look at the twat!” and nobody pays any attention. Any doubts about his loser credentials were dispelled when he slouched up to music legend Leon Russell, and greeted him with a sullen ‘alright mate’. I’m sure he didn’t have the first idea who he was talking to, the ignoramus. What a tosspot.

there’s loads more than ten, but I can’t be bothered. It’s too depressing

Kev Moore

*The use of the word “God” in Kev’s posts is entirely arbitrary, and does not suggest his belief in a deity of any kind.

The God Theory

"Just you wait until I'm an all-powerful, omnipresent figment of your imagination, you bastards..."

He’s not real, you know. He’s a construct of human design which came about because the thought of us being responsible for our actions, or at the mercy of everything else was too much for us to deal with, But let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that he is. I’d like to use a metaphor to describe him. It involves utilizing a religious preconception, but for the sake of argument, I’m willing to do that. Imagine God is re-incarnated, right? It’s my belief that in a former life he was the class nerd. You know, the one everybody picked on, played practical jokes on.

“What’s your name kid?” “Uh, Jehovah”

“Stupid name! – put his head down the toilet and flush it!”  That sort of thing.

I think, he kind of won the celestial lottery and came back as this omnipotent being. It’s the only logical explanation I can put forward for some of the stuff that goes on.  like the other day in France, a massive storm blew up out of nowhere which lasted 20 minutes. It uprooted trees, and one tree crashed down onto a tent where a woman was camping, killing her and severely injuring her children.  Another example was the cop in America, who was asked by a child in McDonald’s if he had 10 cents as he didn’t have enough for a cookie. The cop bought the whole cookie for the kid, walked out of the restaurant and was shot dead in a random attack. The only way there can be a God, and for these things to happen, is for him to be a vindictive little shit who got picked on at school.

Of course the God-botherers then really rub salt into the wound by coming out with utter tripe such as “He has a plan”. Yeah? it’s a seriously f*cked up one then, almost on par with the Millennium dome, or allowing London to host the Olympics. (Still, there’s plenty of plasma screen TV’s distributed among the populace so they can watch the events in glorious widescreen.)

Of course, in reality, there is no God, that woman and that cop unwittingly picked the booby prize in the lottery of life, discovering it was in fact a bitch, and then you die.

There’s some nice churches around though, if you like that sort of thing.

Kev Moore