Tuesday, 10 December 2013


Hi Folks,

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It's called 'WANKR', and this will make you the coolest magician in the entire world. Be the envy of all your friends and peers. Not since the C.U.N.T.O.M.A.T.I.C. has there been such a buzz in the magic world. Pre-order today, folks, while it's still hot....

Now, would I ever lie to you?


Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Simon Lovell is genuinely unwell.

That naughty scamp has come a cropper. I don't really wish anyone harm, so I hope he recovers soon.

Oh, and if anyone ever wants to recreate the famous egg trick, it is described thusly, as performed by Keith Waterhouse:

"It involved borrowing from the management a biscuit tin lid, a pint pot of water, the sleeve from a box of matches and a raw egg. When he had the full attention of the right gathering of like-minded drinkers, the tin lid would be placed on top of the glass of water, the matchbox sleeve on top of the lid and the egg in the open end of the matchbox. The trick was to strike the edge of the tin lid with a shoe. The lid would then fly away, having caught the matchbox on its edge, the matchbox would topple over and deposit the intact egg in the pint of water – sometimes. Other times, the premises would be coated with raw egg."


Thursday, 7 November 2013

Simon Lovell is unwell.

When I was young and foolish, before I became old and foolish, I used to read a magazine called The Spectator. Actually, I still read it. But in those days, the days of yore, the first thing I would do is to turn to the back, to find a column called "Low Life", which was penned by a man called Jeffrey Bernard.

By the end of his life, Jeffrey Bernard was primarily famous for his drinking. He was a journalist, initially of horse racing and pugilism, whose colourful associates, many of them famous or notorious, helped bolster his career as a sports hack.

He had something else on his side, however; in fact, he had two things. The first was the ability to do something exceptionally well, which in his case was to write very good, tight prose. His other attribute was his personality. This worked in all sorts of ways, and might result in someone either lending him a fiver, or punching his lights out.

In his twilight years, Bernard wrote his column in The Spectator, as he lost limbs to alcoholism, always with a caustic commentary on his own physical deterioration, which was in fact a result of his own psychological failures. When he'd been out [bin out!] on a monumental bender, he would fail to file his copy in time, and under the banner of 'Low Life' would be the simple italicised message: Jeffrey Bernard is unwell.

Shortly before his death, these Spectator columns, chronicling as they did his painful demise, were turned into a theatrical production, by Keith Waterhouse, entitled 'Jeffrey Bernard Is Unwell'. It was a one man show, starring another famous drunk, Peter O'Toole, who had known Bernard. It was a great success; the highlight of the show was a trick with an egg. I never met Jeffrey Bernard, but by all accounts, he had great success with this trick, and in the theatrical show it brought the house down every night.

The scenario was simple: a total piss-head, exuding failure from every pore, achieves the impossible against all expectation.

Now, Lovell wasn't drunk when he did this lecture, or at least not properly. We've seen him drunk on film, and drinking more, and it's a different animal. But we were watching him play the drunk: the drunk who gets one over on you; the drunk who makes you feel uncomfortable; the manipulative drunk. But above all, if you know drunks, you'll know how with every drink their empathy grows less. Now, that's fine if everyone is keeping pace, at a cocktail party for instance. Or if you are young and naughty, you might do your lines or drop your pills at the same time. Of course, I wouldn't know about that.

But to play the drunk to an indifferent, sober room, or to a theatre, you need to have a reason, and a good story worth the telling. I'm sure Lovell does a good job in his off-Broadway show, it's been running for quite a while; "Money talks and bullshit walks!" is an epigram worthy of Wilde, if not Pope.

But is he a magician? I had considered framing this review in those terms. In fact, I had toyed with the idea of going through Our Magic, and pointing out how Lovell fails in almost every one of the criteria set out in that text. It would have made him look stupid, and it would have been cruel, and it would have been a lot of work. But the reason I didn't do it, despite me being a nasty, cruel, hard working cunt, was that I would look stupid in reviewing him that way.

His performances, on that tape, were woeful. The pace was bad, the sleights were bad, I hated it. I hated the patter, the interaction, the handling. I just hated it. Sorry, Simon Lovell. At one stage he invoked Tommy Wonder to make a point. Yes. Tommy Wonder. Watching Lovell is more reason than any to run back to films of Tommy Wonder, should you need the excuse.

Clearly, Lovell has something. He has personality, and cheekiness. He has some gags. He has some tricks, but they are just silly tricks, and are presented as such. He has absolutely no magic. None. This was not a lecture on magic, it was a lecture on being Simon Lovell. 

Barry Solayme claimed he was going to review Lovell's Penguin extravaganza, but of course he became abusive and drunk after only 45 minutes, and so I, his "assistant" have written the review.

I must confess that I, too, couldn't make it all the way through. I tried, my God, I tried. I tried three times. I get the impression that I would have no problem sitting through Lovell's NYC show, without the lecture crap. I know I wouldn't like the magic, but I might laugh at some of the jokes. In fact, honestly, I would definitely laugh at some of the jokes.

Now I'll tell you a story about Jeffrey Bernard. When he was still relatively young, he decided to quit drinking. He left Soho, and moved to the countryside, to a quiet hamlet, with no pub or public transport. His plan was to dry out, and to avoid temptation. He had no driving license, having been banned, and so was in a state of monkish grace.

After a few days, he discovered that the only way to the nearest pub involved hitching a lift with the postman, should he happen to deliver a letter. So Bernard wrote himself a letter everyday, until his lease ran out, whereupon he moved back to London.

Barry Solayme is unwell.

Thursday, 10 October 2013

For Posterity.

This was posted on that goddam green website the other day, and has since been deleted. I do not know the author, but I think it was a well judged attack on my arch rival and erstwhile impersonator, Harry Lorayne.


"Below is a preview I found of the contents of the much-awaited book, "Sensational Close Up Magic". 


Moist Rock 

An ace assembly routine, with a smart-alec presentation, in which the cards become sweaty and bent through over-handling. The effect closes with the entire sticky deck being spread face up to prove to the wise-guys not only that there are no duplicates, but that they should have gone to the movies instead. 

Load Of Wit 

Not a trick, but a method of producing a selected card from your inside jacket pocket. This is done by palming it off the top of the deck, then immediately ducking your hand under the table-top and moving it up inside the jacket, before pulling your hand out and proudly displaying the card's crumpled form - all the while hoping there are at least one or two people in the room who don't consider you to be a total arse. 

The Wings Of A Fly 

A "card flight" concept in which a selected card travels from the deck to your inside jacket pocket. As a kicker, it is found that half the audience has buzzed off to the bar. 

Mr. Knowledgable 

A prediction effect in which a card is placed aside face down. The spectator removes and counts a small number of cards, then sits on them, before remembering the card in the deck that lies at that number. Several jog shuffles, triple cuts and double lifts later, it is found that the prediction card has become the selected card and the sat-upon cards have become warm and damp. 

Breathlessly Awaiting 

A butt-numbingly tedious procedure using a down-under deal for finding an indicator card that leads to another card whose name is then spelled to locate the selected card in the deck, followed by an utterly pointless and meaningless revelation of the four aces. 

Go To The Source 

This trick is worth what the price of the entire volume should be. A card is forced behind your back, then returned to the deck, which you proceed to mix face-up and face-down. Following some protracted and confusing by-play which leaves everyone absolutely bewildered, you shout out the name of the selected card before taking a minute to triumphantly re-arrange the deck by hand. 

Oh So Obvious! 

A quickie in which the spectator cuts the cards into four piles and the performer makes out that the top card of each is an ace. A trick that has been performed worldwide by hundreds of millions since it was popularised in 1962, fooling many of the world's finest retards along the way. 

Up Yours, You Idiot 

By means of a b-a-s-t-a-r-d-ised bottom card slip cut, a selected card vanishes from between the two single-titted queens, and appears face up in the deck via a totally unjustified Braue reversal, sandwiched between the two big-willied kings. 

You're Wrong! 

A sucker trick involving four consecutive reverse faros, three smug looks, two undercuts and one enormous anti-climax. 

Ripped Off 

Something just a little different. From a borrowed deck, a selected card is torn in two, after which it is found that only 51 usable cards remain. As a kicker, the performer bills the client an unsuitably large and grossly offensive fee, plus first-class travel expenses. 

Just My Opinion 

A do-as-I-say-but-not-as-I-do effect in two phases. Phase 1: you create the illusion that you know everything there is to know about card magic. Phase 2: you show some videos of yourself that prove how large an illusion it actually was. 

Out Of His Mind 

Renowned world-wide as an improvement on the best card trick ever invented, this routine consists of a spectator shuffling the cards for 26 minutes then dealing them into two piles of 26 cards. Incredibly, it is then revealed that the number of black cards in the first pile is equal to the number of red cards in the second pile. As a kicker, the remaining cards in the first pile are shown to be all red and the remaining cards in the second pile to be all back. This is as close as you can get to a miracle with cards without at any time needing to think about what you're actually doing or what purpose it could possibly serve. 


Look out for volume II in the series: "Tricks With A Twist"."


Tuesday, 8 October 2013

How I trained the fucking SAS.


Don't turn around, I mean don't move a muscle, because what I'm about to tell you is top secret. TOP SECRET.

(I trained the Special Air Service.)

Yeah. They got trained by ME.

They learned MY memory techniques.

They learned MY card tricks.

And, most importantly, I have personally met and remembered the names of sixty seven million people.


Sunday, 14 April 2013



Thinking of Kevin: fuck this noise.

Fuck all those malevolent, self-promoting, back-biting arrogant turds.

Cheers to the humble and unwieldy. Cheers to Roland for letting me loose, cheers to the readers. Both of 'em.

Sometimes, the Internet makes me cry.

And that's not,


PS Don't worry, Mr Donkey, it's the last ever post.

 Posted: Apr 6, 2013 12:47pm    Reply with quote   Send a Private Message   View Profile of Octopus Sun   Report this post to forum moderator   
Kevin, Max gave you the chance of a lifetime. stop whining.
It's up to you to get your sh*t together and
do this yourself, not with Max's help. He did his job, He opened the
door for you, now you must step through, and grow up.
No one here is going to do this for you.
Stop your whining and get yourself cleaned up and
your butt in gear. Not many people get a chance like you
have been given by Max. You are not even a member, you are a guest!
No one is going to hold your hand and walk you through this,
you have made some serious claims as to your abilities, now go
prove what you claim. Stop bragging, you talk the talk, but your vids
show otherwise. seriously, Sit down and write your lecture, practice your routines,
speaking LOUDLY, why? your voice in all your vids is weak and soft, with no projection or confidence.
If I went to a lecture where a speaker talked like you I would walk in a heartbeat. There is
no enthusiasm in your voice...ever...even your post are full of
negatives constantly crying and whining. You seriously need to grow up if you want to be recognized
as a Real Magi, and not some show off throwing names around like Ponta's. No on cares
about all your name dropping. It will get you no where in this life.
If you want people to take you serious, then you must ACT the part.

10,000 hours does not make you this so called Master.
good luck.

What a fucking prick.

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Brenda Bogbrush presents: THE ULTIMATE BUSH TEST!!!

Get it while it's hot, folks!

It's the all new 'Bush Test', by "Scum School" impressaria, Brenda Bogbrush!

Brenda has been tirelessly working on her 'Bush Test' for almost two weeks now, and is excited to bring it to market via Barry Solayme Enterprises.

The spectator is presented with three, famous bushes. They may choose between Joan Rivers, Sarah Palin or Marilyn Manson! You, the mentalist, can tell not only whose bush the spectator has chosen, but which particular pubic hair is being examined, and how grizzled it is. 

There's nothing about these bushes you won't know, so order now!

Only $298.97 per bush.


[All bushes supplied for "The Ultimate Bush Test" are replica bushes only.] 

Saturday, 2 March 2013

Who Runs "Real Secrets"? What are you? A moron?

God you people are dumb.

"We don't know who is behind Real Secrets!"

"The problem is we don't know who's in charge!"

"It's some of the top names in magic, and this is their worker material!"

Oh yeah? And my name's Shelley Winters. Boo-hoo-fuckin'-hoo.

Well you're all half-right about one thing: it's not just some of the "top names", it's THE FRIGGING TOP NAME, AND THAT NAME IS BARRY SOLAYME.

And now I got Ritchie Kaufman wanting me to pay for lawyers; Mike Weber says that unless I give him another marketing opportunity, he's gonna frigging walk, that mincing asshole. Half the goddam Internet has gone up in flames, and nobody is giving ME, the GENIUS who started the whole thing, any credit whatsoever! You dick shits.

I paid that weasel, Tom Stone, to back Real Secrets on 'Magic Bunny', and he goes and tells the fucking truth? That CUNT! Fortunately for me, they seem to be too stupid to realize it and ended by insulting him. My lucky day. That goddam Dane is regretting the day he stole my "Benson Flamer" routine. Oh yeah, don't you worry about Tom Stone, he'll get what's coming to him alright.

And Michael Jay? That man should be locked up, along with Ian Kendall, even though he's a subscriber. Those guys get right up my ass.

But here's the point, people, and here's why I'm going public.


I know what you people are doing and you think you're real clever, don't you? Yeah, sure, taking shots at me and my Miniature Dachshund, 'Sandy'. I know your game and I think it's pathetic. You want to use film references to insult me and my Miniature Dachshund? Go right ahead, because you are JUST SICK!!!

Sure, take all the cheap shots you want, talk about the "rules of fight club", talk about "we do not talk about fight club". Go ahead, take your best shot. I know your game. But here's where you screwed up, buddy boys, BECAUSE SANDY, MY MINIATURE DACHSHUND, CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOUR PATHETIC TAUNTS. SO SCREW YOU, MOTHERFUCKERS, YOU CAN ALL GO FUCK YOURSELVES, BECAUSE I DON'T NEED ANY REAL SECRETS MEMBERS ANYWAY. I'M RICH ENOUGH ALREADY!

And you, Ritchie Kaufman, I finally get to tell you that your Pass sucks. It's always sucked, and you suck with it. I liked you better when you still wet your pants and hadn't read about Napoleon before crying yourself to sleep.

As for you, Weber, your commitment has been lacking. Sorely lacking. I know where the bodies are buried, Mikey. I know your sources. You need to come see me, and make sure you bring your fucking wallet. The one with money in it, this time.

You assholes have fucked this whole idea up, because you're a bunch of no-good, lazy, masturbatory circle-jerkers. I gave you the Holy Grail of usury, and you turned it to shit in 12 months.


You are all dismissed.

Kiss my ring on the way out. Chicken shit motherfuckers.