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Lose Control

   The animations continue, for better or worse. Ha.

This one is my first music video. I created it for Sheila Star. The song is called “Lose Control” and is the lead track on her latest release called, “That Fire.” Click on the link and check it out.

How is this video connected to a drought? A good question. Drop a man from Seattle in the Sahara Desert and he could tell you, or, less dramatically, take a stereotypical and sometimes homesick Brit and deny him the rain, as he lives his life in drought stricken California for a few years. Lose Control? Too bloody right.

Now if you are a Brit and reading this and are thinking “Miss the bloody miserable, drizzly, damp? You must be off your bloody rocker.” I respect your opinion, but you can’t know until you have tried it.

Anyway, enjoy the video and thanks, as always, for being a friend to The Bay Area Brit.

Dead Cold

Well, I’m still putting words on “paper,” my lovely Britophiles, but now the words form scripts for my animations. I know many of you would rather read an essay than watch a cartoon I created, but this is where I am at right now. I hope you stick with The Bay Area Brit on this cartoon ride.

This new short animation was inspired and pays homage to the Norwegian Nazi Zombie flick, “DEAD SNOW.”

I know, right! Frikkin’ Nazi Zombies. Kind of like Donald Trump’s idea of the perfect, mindless voter, but I digress.

Hope you like it. Feel free to share and subscribe on my YouTube Channel if you like.

Cheers, and thanks for being you.

Yes, you.









New animation


This short animation is dedicated to anyone that has worked in the service industry or had to stand in line behind a high-maintenance customer at a cafe or a bar.

Feel free to share this if you like it. As always, thanks.




It has been a long time since I’ve written a new entry and for that I apologize. I get a lot of people asking for more cartoons, I hope to go one better than that by offering this one-minute animation that I created. I hope you like it and will continue to follow me. Thanks.


    The Bay Area Brit returns! No, that’s no good. The Bay Area Brit—this time it’s personal. Scratch that. Jeez, I thought this would be easier. I’ll name it later. I’m returning to a country that I have glorified and mocked in equal measure. How will I be received? Will anyone care?

                        “You can’t go home again.” – Thomas Wolfe

     And that was when it hit me: I should have ordered the pasta. Oh, sorry, I’m still on a plane on the way to London, and every co-passenger with keen vision can get a preview of my ramblings, I mean witty prose. Or something.

      I suppose when this two-week trip is done and dusted I will look back upon my sojourn wistfully. I anticipate moments of great joy, tears, and reflection with my family. I will also be a tourist. I will be flooded with memories, as I remember both good and tough times in my old Bayswater neighborhood in West London. I’ll also briefly forget why I moved away all those years ago.

     When traveling back to a place that you were once so familiar with, you ask yourself some of the daftest questions: “I wonder if Ali still works at that little market across the street from where I used to live 30 years ago?”

                                               Am I insane?

     Of course he doesn’t, and if he does, I think my eyes would look upon him with such poorly disguised pity that it would just be better altogether if I didn’t go in there. But maybe I’ll have a quick peek; maybe the new guy will know what became of Ali. No, no, forget Ali.

      Visitors to London used to say things like, “Can you believe that this building is over a thousand years old?” Now tourists say things like, “This is the house where Colin Firth punched Hugh Grant in the face for being such a wiener. Can you simulate punching my face? Or, better still, actually punch my face so I can get a great selfie with a black eye.”


        Sorry, Houses of Parliament, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and Tower of London, you had your day. Now, throngs of young people pose in front of the bookshop featured in the film “Notting Hill.” And yes, I’m sure Colin Firth punches Hugh Grant in the face in that film too. I’m pretty sure that people would flock to see any film that has Colin Firth punching Hugh Grant in the face.

      We live in the age of instant gratification. Social Media rules our daily lives. I discovered that although a lot of the museums have wi-fi, they block websites like Facebook and Twitter.

       iTourist is thwarted and not happy. “Screw you. If I’m spending $80 to see the goddamned Crown Jewels in the goddamned Tower of London, I want to send picture-proof to all my homies that I was actually there. Here’s a selfie with Queen Victoria’s crown on my head.”

      There are about 50 uniformed adults that, albeit politely, will tell you that you cannot photograph the Crown Jewels, wear Richard the Lionheart’s suit of armor, or pose with your head inches below the blade of Henry the VIII’s trusty, head-removing axe of choice. So the iTourist says, “Well, then, you can kiss MY Crown Jewels, London.”

      The glossy, black front door at 221b Baker Street stands soberly in the background as hundreds of people take pics of themselves—for free. And you know what? There’s not one single person there to stop the iTourist from knocking on the door, or ringing the doorbell, leaving a steaming poop in a flaming paper bag and running away, or, heaven forbid, breaking into Sherlock Holmes’ digs, only to be massively disappointed that Benedict Cumberbatch isn’t serenading Martin Freeman with a violin.


        This is the new London and this is the new tourist. iPhone poised, ready to document every thing they see through their camera lens.

        London is a pulsating, vibrant energy as big and exciting as New York City and just as unpredictable. London was broken when I left and it has been fixed. I mean seriously, central London effortlessly hums along. For a brief time at the beginning of August, it felt like home again. The home I might have never left.

      When Thomas Wolfe wrote, “You can never go home again” he was wrong (unless you once lived on Alderaan, because, spoiler alert, The Death Star blew that planet up.) However, whether the home you remember (or want) is the same, well that’s another matter. The main thing is that no matter what the future holds for London in the next few years, it seems for now, tourists are pretty happy that Hugh Grant is getting punched in the face.

Sent from my iPad



Panic not, fair lovelies

Hello People of The Earth

The Bay Area Brit here. I normally update with a funny essay, or captioned photos of people mis-behaving in public. BART I’m looking at you.

But today I’m just giving a quick update. Sorry I haven’t added anything here lately, I’m in the closing stages of writing a new book. I think it’s the best thing I’ve written so far, and I wanted to finish it completely before devoting time to anything else in the writing department. It’s a funny, murder-mystery set on a construction site in Marin County, and if I tell you any more than that, you won’t get me to shut up.

If you miss me–stop pretending you don’t miss me–I will be reading a short, funny essay about my purely platonic relationship with James Bond at The Cartoon Art Museum in San Francisco, Saturday March 1st.

It should be a fun event and well worth the entry fee. Regardless of whether a Brit is prattling on about James Bond, the museum is a must-see in San Francisco if you’re a fan of the comic strip/cartoon oeuvre.

Thanks for continuing to follow The Bay Area Brit

I love you all tons and tons,

Matty Stone (The Bay Area Brit)

Meanwhile, this.


The Gospel According To BART (Strike Edition)

Welcome to the fifth “Gospel According To BART.” Now with some late-breaking news about the BART strike, we go over to our “on the train” news team Diane Summers and Ron Dayton……

“Guys, you’re on. Ron…wake up! You’re on live! Diane, can you hear me? Cut to Gary with Sports, I think they’re dead.”

BART's definition of "OUT OF ORDER" greatly differs from my own.

BART’s definition of “OUT OF ORDER”  differs greatly from my own.

So I'm confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were clearly marked.

So I’m confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were more clearly marked.

Dear BART,  Shit doesn't work as an adhesive. That is all.

Dear BART,
Shit doesn’t work as an adhesive. That is all.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He's already taken out the lady to his left. I don't know, maybe he's just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy's neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He’s already taken out the lady to his left. I don’t know, maybe he’s just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy’s neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART. "Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?"

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART.
“Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?”

Phone theft on the BART system is on the rise. Cameras are not a guarantee of safety, please keep an eye on all your valuables, including laptops, purses, and especially phones.

Public opinion as to whether BART should strike is mostly in favor of not striking, but this chap says he is with them and on his own strike against whatever it is that he might be paid to do.

Whether BART workers are justified in striking is a hotly debated issue. But this chap says he is with the workers and peacefully picketing in a show of sleepy solidarity.

Agent 99

Last week The Bay Area Brit turned three.

The terrible twos were good to me. And since three is one greater than two, I expect this third year to be …er…oh, shit… Math …hang on …carry the one…minus the Leap Year day last year…um…Awesome!

Today is February 25th and marks the one-year anniversary that my host, WordPress started keeping track of the various countries that visit The Bay Area Brit site. Now this won’t tickle your fancy as much as it does me/mine, but in the last 365 days I have had visitors from 99 different countries. Now I know what you’re thinking: So what, 99 people from 99 countries happened to stumble upon your stupid little, somewhat amusing site in the space of a calendar year.

Well that’s not quite the case.

My ego will not allow me to believe this was in any way an inconsequential feat.

I have had only 3 hits from China. It’s a country of a billion people, but I happen to know that those hits came from some pretty influential people. In my mind, I’m bigger than Chairman Mao at his peak, and there are giant banners with my face on it decorating Tienanmen Square. Maybe I should tell the lady that answers the phone when I order take-out from my local Chinese restaurant (Yang Chow) that I am extremely famous in her homeland. Maybe I will get the special friend and family discount or some free Chow Mein or maybe they’ll name a dish after me…That would be pretty cool.


I had a cyber-visitor from Iran. This was not recorded by my host but by a different site that tracks visits. They also showed a visit from someone in Sudan that also wasn’t registered by my host. Well whats up with that, WordPress?

My Iranian and Sudanese peeps want to know the Brit’s scoop too.

The day that film director James Cameron went 20,000 leagues under the sea off the coast of Guam in his mini-submarine, I got a visit on my site from Guam. True. Guess who in my warped mind I assume visited my site? That’s right. Mr. James Cameron. I also feel pretty sure that there will be a British character in his next movie loosely based upon you know who…wink-wink.

If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.
“If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.”

Okay, so yeah, I’m a tad delusional.

 I’ve had hits in Africa too. Ten countries in Africa. Did I mention how famous I am in Africa? I’m like Nelson Mandela meets Haile Selassie meets Shaka Zulu meets Charlize Theron. I could like totally be the President of Africa. Well, you know, if one person could rule a continent. *Note to self* learn Swahili.

I’m also massive in random East-European countries. Countries that I never even knew existed. And by massive I of course mean that I get a shit-ton of hits…and why not, yo, I’m eloquent and whatnot. I’m so whatnot.

I’ll bet that if the dismantling of the Soviet Bloc hadn’t already happened I could have helped with that. You know why? Because Mother Russia loves it some Bay Area Brit. Da, it is true.

Some people have said that I must have an agent that spends his calendar year going from country-to-country and logging in Internet Cafes and hitting up TheBayAreaBrit.com. I have encouraged my friends to support: (Whassup, Venezuela, New Zealand, Malawi, and some of Scandinavia) But an agent? If that was the case, wouldn’t I just have the agent go to one more country so I could claim 100 countries? But then I couldn’t use the cool Agent 99 Get Smart reference.


 The third highest number of hits after The U.S. and Canada (my face soon to be printed on the Canadian dollar BTW) is of my homeland: Great Britain.

However, In spite of the hits, I’m pretty sure the British don’t care about me….No, no, no, no …it’s okay…But that’s the beauty of being British: We really don’t care about stupid things like a trivial blog written by some Trans-Atlantic twat.

I’m appreciated in China, ALL of the former Soviet bloc, every European country, Iran and a bevy of other countries in the Middle-East. Almost all of Central and South America, Some of Africa, and all of Asia excluding North Korea. But the response back home in Britain? “Think you’re better than us do ya?”

“No, no, no, no. Well, yes, of course I do. Did I mention I’m a tad delusional?”

The Package

Look at me. I’m like a child on the morning of his birthday, waiting for the mailman to bring him a gift. No, it’s worse than that: I’m like a spoiled lapdog running to the window every ten seconds, waiting for his owner to come home. Every faint whiff of perfume that wafts through the slightly cracked window has him running around in circles near the front door.

Read more

Read more  51Kt5ekM8cL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg

The Gospel According To BART ….part IV

Well, friends, it’s that time again. Here’s The Gospel Part IV. I put Gospels II, and III and a link to the first one below because I love you all so very much.

This young man’s ability to snore his way undisturbed though a busy evening commute was  astounding, until I poured piping hot coffee on his crotch.

Blocking the passage way with your Burning Man luggage and ugly clown pants will likely earn you an unwanted “decompression” from Desert-Life, especially on a late-night BART to the murder capital of California.

         Edith Humphrey, age 53, confronts her potentially life-endangering pollen allergy with reckless  abandon on the 2:17 to Fremont.

Text reads:   “Mom, I don’t think this is Tatooine, please beam me back. These are my co-ordinates.”

“OMG! Mom, ur the worst! Forget it. I’m gonna just take the train.”

“Actually, Mr. BART Po-lice-man, I don’t think my feet ARE  on the seat.”

“Sign? I didn’t see any sign.”

Ever wonder what lurks behind those dreadful poster ads? It’s Cyber-technology, and much like me, it’s watching you misbehave on BART. My favorite part is the guy who thinks I’m just randomly taking a photo of him. Don’t flatter yourself, dude. Besides, this blog is read in 76 countries, and that disapproving scowl could go viral.

The Gospel According To BART….Part III

Picture if you will, a series of tunnels and tracks that run through the Bay Area, both underground and above it. A place where not everything is what it seems. A place known as…..

Who knows what creatures you might see lurking out the window, tearing at the engine of the train.

When I’m having a rough morning after a late night fight with my wife, I love to bow my head, inhale the “fresh scent” of a BART seat and cry. It smells like dirty hair and things I regret saying while I was drunk.

These ads are everywhere. I care about them enough to make fun of their “awesomer” ability to make up words, but not enough to actually look up the website to see what the bloody hell it’s all about. WORST BART AD EVER!

It’s late, and on the BART platform sits proof that (somewhere) a Chippendale’s dancer is out of uniform.

If “fragile” means, “The suitcase that will crush all other suitcases when coming into sight at baggage claim,” then, yes, this suitcase is indeed “fragile.”

“My bike!!!!!!”……………BART would like to remind cyclists that it is not responsible for bikes parked on BART property.

“I can’t believe this jerk just put his feet up on my seat penning in me in like this. I’m going to tell him off any second now…..I’m just going to give this rude piece of shit a piece of my mind…..Oh, boy he’s going to feel my wrath….I’m just gonna……I’m ……Meh, maybe I’ll just stare wanly into an open space wishing that I had the nerve to say something.”

At least this guy had the sense to keep his feet off the seat.

Get me Bert Goldstein in Hollywood and find out why he hasn’t got me an acting gig in 5 months.

I said, “Ma’am, I don’t think this train goes to Paddington station.” She looked at me like I’m crazy and shuffled away from me. Yeah, like I’m the crazy one.

Always pay attention to the signs on the platform; they often contain information that must be obeyed.

The Gospel According To BART ….Part II

BART continues to be a source of amusement for the pic-and-caption team at The Bay Area Brit. I hope that you feel the same way.

The BART station agent’s financial woes are aired for everyone to see. However, if BART paid him more money maybe he would stay in his little booth the whole shift like he’s supposed to.

I keep seeing these ads on the BART platforms everywhere. I know when I’m scraping together the $2.75 to take BART in the morning, I often think to myself: “I should just donate my luxury yacht to some page 3 pin-up dressed like Donald Duck.” Really?

Speaking of ads: Why did the people that paid for the Judgment Day Warning posters pay to have their ads run through the end of July? Silly rapture-wanters.

This young man takes a heroin nap during the evening commute to San Francisco. He will wake up three hours later in Richmond and will have somehow lost his wallet, his ID, his sunglasses, and his Nikes.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this happen, people.

A Female commuter regrets her decision to partake in “Take A Convict To Work Day” when he tells her that he’s never really known true love before…until now.

You know I just couldn’t resist.

Here’s that link to the first Gospel.