The Curious Case of Anton Lorien:Patriot, Armed Forces Fanboy, Wannabee Pop Star and Scientologist

23 03 2012

Like many who “get” Twitter I keep an avid interest in who chooses to plug into my ranty funnel of vulgarity, revolution and pop culture trivia. I am intrigued by my followers, my curiosity draws me to find out who they are, what makes them tick and why so many want me to make more money fast or have a free iPad.

On the evening of Thursday 22nd March a Twitter account by the handle of “@WeRTheBrits” decided to follow me. Now, I’m not down with the whole “Nationalism” thing, for me right now there are only two nations; in one corner we have “The Internet” and in the other we have the murky grey horror of “The Real World.”

Not that I have anything against Britland, there are plenty of worse places to have been born in and the land has a certain charm. Plus, until last Tuesday it had a National Health Service which had seen me fine (and once paid for me to have a laser fired up my cock.) But for decades the logo of Britland had been co-opted by the sort of illiterate racist EDL nutjobs who talk of  Muslims and their “Ray Guns”. Seeing as @WeRTheBrits is so fond of that symbol I had to use my internet powers to check them out.

Twitter page of @WeRTheBrits

Thankfully there wasn’t anything racial on We Are The Brits’ twitter stream.There was however, a lot of promotion about a video on Youtube called “We Are The Brits” a charity single created (in the same way Cthulhu “created” his hellish star-spawn) by a character who calls himself Anton Lorien

WARNING: I’ve not watched this video all the way through, and certainly not with the sound on so there might be scenes of Royal Weddings, middle class white boy’s attempts at the hip hop and clips of Princess Di healing the sick.

I can only imagine this video is the sort of thing the Government would play on all channels in the event of a nuclear war. Anton Lorien’s strangely chilling blue eyes could be the last thing you see before you’re just a shadow burned into the lounge wall as those Iranian missiles fall upon this green and passive aggressive land.

But hey, who am I judge? The guy just really really likes this country, unless he’s throwing bacon at a mosque he’s not doing any harm is he?

I mean, just because The British Monarchy League have a hard on for him doesn’t make him Margaret Thatcher does it?

British Monarchist League

Someone better tell them about the British Empire and world history since 1945, quick!

(For the record my thoughts on the Monarchy can be read here )

So Anton Lorien might be the poster child for the sort of British Patriotism found in V For Vendetta, at least he isn’t into some kind of creepy cult devised by a madman, eh?

Oh wait, I mentioned Scientology in the title didn’t I?

From this site we start to get a clearer picture of the wacky world of Anton Lorien. It appears that wee Anton is down with the Scientology crowd, that bastion of sanity and openness which has been enticing Hollywood celebrities and the emotionally vulnerable since L Ron quit writing bad stories and instead babbled incoherently while on drugs to a paying audience of fools.
(I know, it’s the sort of life I aspire to but at least my cult would be more fun and have a better story!)

Once you look at the work of the Anons and others who fight Scientology you start to gather all sort of interesting facts about our patriotic crooner. For example, from this website we learn that Anton was responsible for indoctrination a girl called Natalie Milsom who was mentioned in this Daily Telegraph article about new cults and the disastrous affect they have on people. Oh yes, he was also Sacha Baron Cohen’s body double in Borat too.

Yeah I know, it just gets weirder and weirder doesn't it?

So then, this is the kind of freak who follows me on Twitter. A Monarchist Scientologist who makes appalling charity singles to “Support Our Troops” and who knows how he is using that organisation to recruit vulnerable war widows or PTSD soldiers into the welcoming bosom of the Arch-Messiah Hubbard. Fuck knows what other kind of shit he has going on behind those piercing and deeply unsettling eyes of his, I wouldn’t be surprised if he weren’t naked and raving against the hot San Diego sidewalk in a year’s time with a Union Jack shoved up his bleached anus.

I'm not saying it's true but having known someone with NPD I get the same level of creep off Lorien.

So that is my curiosity about my latest Twitter follower satisfied. I say latest follower but after I did a bit of Anon style trolling and posted this…

@WeRTheBrits unfollowed me (boo-hoo.)

A lucky escape?

How do people define themselves on the Twitter

14 07 2011

I find myself browsing potential followers on Twitter for business leads and like a Wil Self I amuse my jaded intellect by judging people on the descriptions they post on their profiles.
Two thirds can be surmised as follows:
“I have a job: I have children”

Well, that really makes them stand out from the crowd doesn’t it? Were I actually Wil Self I would reach over to the Thesaurus, compile a list of words to illustrate my contempt for the petty banalities of my fellow humans unimaginative existences then stare hopelessly at my own reflection in a glass of brandy for a few hours.

However, I am not Wil Self so instead I’m going to make a cup of tea, thank the Internet for helping me find the unique freaks that make life more interesting and then later indulge myself by watching a German housefrau satisfy the priapic and urinal desires of three belligerent plumbers/bodybuilders.

6 03 2009

Spacetime fizzled back to normal around the starship as it glided unpowered into dock at the space elevator. It was a Rolze trade envoy, called the “Orson Fucking Welles” and the name alone made the Alnairian traffic control operators wince at the misplaced vulgarity, twittering to their co-workers and friends that another Rolze crew had arrived to piss everyone off with their brash optimism, rampant materialism and awful haircuts. This was little hypocritical of the Alnairians who were no strangers to interstellar inappropriateness as the all femme(and proud) starship in the neighbouring docking port (The Pink Slit) would attest to.
To ancient eyes the exterior decor of the Orson Fucking Welles could only be described as “bling.” The white, gold and chrome exterior of the craft contrasted with the utilitarian docking cradle as it broadcasted its welcoming message to the Alnairians, an avatar of the assured ancient cinema director in black and white announcing in an incongruous high pitched Australian accent that “the Rolzes were here to show you space hippies how its done!”
A thousand personal networks in local space fluttered with righteous indignation at the open invitation to a flame war, blogs splurged with vitriol and contempt and all in the space of twenty minutes. Another typical day for the Community in the Cloud had dawned, the near infinite network of pointless opinion and information that underlay the physical and real universe a flurry with activity.