I was on the train to London Liverpool Street when it hit me. Not a proper hit like a manly punch or a baseball bat to a sensitive area, it was more like an effeminate slap really, but still enough to stun me. In less than two months, I would be twenty-seven years old.

Me? Twenty-seven?

It seemed like only yesterday I was a carefree fifteen-year-old terrifying the elderly with my very existence. How did I get to twenty-bastard-seven without noticing? What had I achieved in over a quarter of a century of life? If I died this morning, what could I look back on and feel proud of?

You know, I've often wondered what life would be like if Walt Disney had been just a little more messed in the head...

I've been doing a lot of thinking in the past few weeks. Isn't it about time we had a new religion? I mean, I don't want to offend anyone here, and if you are easily offended then Goddamn are you at the wrong site, but a major religion hasn't been born for over 1000 years now and this is meant to be the age of choice.

With this is mind I have taken it upon myself to play "Overlord" as it were and lay my claim to immeasurable power. Yes, you heard me correctly, I am starting my own religion and I want YOU to join as my disciple!

What a crazy world we live in. Just when you thought it was safe to craw out of the bunker after September 11th, along come Pakistan and India waving nuclear weapons and generally behaving like English soccer hooligans on speed. What is it all about anyway? What could possibly be so important as to bring two nuclear capable nations to the brink of war?

I bet it's something a lot stupider than we imagine.

Once upon a time, in a time that was long ago, and probably cold, and probably not the best time in history to start a small business specialising in floral displays, there lived a people called the “Ancients”. The Ancients were a powerful people, fearsome to their enemies in wartime (so long as you didn't have guns or bombs, or those really long spears you see in the Zulu movies that have menacing feather motifs near the blade) but wise in times of peace, and the keepers of hidden knowledge about trees, herbs, various vengeful deities, and some kind of magic oil that could cure Athletes Foot and demonic possessions without killing more than 60% of the patients.

Oh, yes, the Ancients were wise indeed.

As a champion of family values and moral codes, parents of young children often approach me in the street and ask me for advice on how to ensure their child grows up right, and nothing like Kelly Osbourne in behaviour, talent, looks or smarts. Though especially looks.

Well, that's simple, I tell them, as I reach my destination and enter the brothel, the secret to raising morally responsible children, is simply choosing the right entertainment for them in their most impressionable years. Entertainment is the key to a child's development, after all, much like a normal key is the key to some kind of locking mechanism like a gimp mask.

So the Olympics have come and gone again and TV executives everywhere are wondering what the hell they are going to air on late night TV for the next four years. My bet is 1970s softcore porn movies.

Anyway, whilst watching the Olympics from bed this summer, which, incidentally, isn't as fun to masturbate to as softcore 70s porn, a thought occurred to me…

Is it really fair that people caught taking drugs are banned from all competitions?

You know, I got thinking the other day. If I had my own agony aunt radio phone-in show, specialising in relationships and couples living together, I'd have made a pretty stupid choice of presenter and the person who hired me would probably be tested for drugs. Nevertheless, if I did have my own agony aunt radio phone-in show (on FM radio no less) I think my first lesson to the love sick masses would be teaching confused men the art of successfully living with their woman. Yes, that's right, despite the fact I haven't lived with a girl for over a year now, I was so deeply traumatised from the experience that I feel I am well placed to offer advice and consolation to my fellow man.

Well f**k me with a turkey baster (as the lesbian said to the nice man from the clinic), I've finally written a new Under the Surface report!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, no political satire for us today! No tired jokes about Michael Jackson's problematic grasp on reality in this update. For today, ladies and gentlemen, right here, right now, we are doing a Tom Hanks in “ Big ” and taking a trip back to our childhood with the report everyone's been dying to read…

80s Kids Cartoons – Under the Surface!

1. Skyscrapers are very tall buildings where businessmen go to discuss very boring topics like profit margins, best business practice, and where to purchase the best Bangkok chick-boys for the cheapest hourly rate.

2. It is, of course, CheapChickBoyForYouGoodNowYes.com, but eBay comes a respectable second.