This time around, I'm going to diverge from discussing historical Carma development, or the new game, or manufacturing techniques used for sex aids for the hard-of-hearing dwarf community.
Instead, let me tell you about a little adventure I had recently. You may have heard of some pokey little motor race called Le Mans. This is an event in that France place where 250,000 people turn up to get pissed out of their heads and ignore a motor race that allegedly drones on through the night.
So we decided to conduct an assault on it in the mad 600bhp Batwick-mobile Range Rover. Unfortunately the crash barriers are too tough to allow me to gatecrash the race and drive around the track in the wrong direction trying to head-on one of the pointy-things coming in the other direction, so instead we used the event to ram the Carma brand down everybody's throats.
First up was the Rangie itself. Because something the size of a small house with an exhaust note like a NASCAR isn't nearly noticeable enough, we got it all stickered-up in Carma livery.
(That's not my house by the way – waaaaaaay too neat and tidy for my place, which looks more like a cross between a scrap yard and a building site.)
I could have been driving a Lamborghini with a crucified nun nailed to the roof and got less attention, I can tell you.
So, over to Frenchland we went by boat. Some France, yesterday:
How many blokes does it take to tell the owner of the MG that it's fucked, whilst the wives look on?
Because me and the Batwife are fucking posh, we stayed in a small metal box rather than a tent. Here we are with the Range Rover planning to have rough sex with a Ferrari once all the humans had gone to sleep:
Now the fun began. We came armed with dozens of Carma stickers, with a plan to piss off as many Frenchmen as we could (particularly les Gendarmes, with their stupid uniforms and "You don't expect me to take you seriously when you're driving that do you?!" police cars).
Right turn ahead – please run somebody over!
Roundabout – cunning stunt required!
(That one took a running jump, making it look I was high-fiving the road-sign, much to the amusement of passing traffic.)
This probably means "You will be killed by death if you go over 50", but you now can't read it because IT GOT STICKERED!
Last road sign, I promise, before you die of boredom:
Luckily I couldn't be arsed to photograph the loads and loads of lamp-posts that I also stickered.
Here's the inside of the famous Dunlop Bridge across the track:
Looks better than all that shit-house door graffiti eh? And look at that head – recognise him? More on him later... ;-)
But first, here really is a shit-house door:
And here's a menu selling sausage and bacon baguettes, croissants (of course), hot dogs, and high speed automotive DEATH:
A new entry on the "where the fuck am I?" map as you enter one of the main enclosures:
Now this is where we started getting cheeky. How about last year's Audi LMP1 Le Mans race car?
That one deserves a close-up:
Sony Playstation 3 booth? Hell yes! Motor Storm Apocalypse demo station:
And again:
Gran Turismo simulator? BORING!!! Cars are for killing people, don't you cunts know nuffink?
Now how about some art? This was the centrepiece sculpture of Audi's presence at Le Mans, which we affectionately called "The Audi Cock". Hang on, it's that bloke again...
Obviously you can't recognise him here, as you can only see his arse. But I had to promise to bail him out of whatever sleazy French jail they would have slung him into had he got nicked, before he'd agree to do this. Talking of his arse, I would have course had given him enough time to get acquainted with the other occupants before bailing him out though.
Here's the finished result:
At this point we did of course run like hell, as the place was crawling with Audi storm-troopers ready to vorsprung our durch techniks.
And finally, here he is risking life, limb, and more prolonged buggery, skewered on the rancid cock of a homeless Frenchman, stickering the main underpass that runs below the track:
Recognise him yet?
Finished result:
And as for our mystery man, it's madman Tony, the original Max Damage in the Carma 1 Pratcam, still alive, well, and no less bonkers:
On the way home, Tony even managed to sticker the ferry:
So, there you go. Our Gallic adventure. Lots of people in the Le Mans crowd are now thinking "Carmawhat?.... Reincarhowmany? Where's my beer?". Mission accomplished.
Oh and some awful diesel pointy things whirred around the track for a day until they stopped, at which point some blokes in overalls got given some bits of gold and jizzed their bubbly into each others' mouths.
One final note though, if you've not seen it before, there was actually one genuine Carmageddon moment in the race. Watch this (with the sound down, unless you speak deadpan German and want to lose the will to live), and then think of the contents of that cameraman's gusset as he's chased by the wheel:
Now that's what I call a cunning stunt. Shame we never got to sticker that one!