Thursday 25 August 2011

Caught on the rim of a minty cheese hole.

August is nearly up and that means there’s not a lot of summer left. One more summer, no closer to making nuclear fusion a viable energy alternative. Another summer gone where I have not worn shorts in public.


I have quite nice legs, a little hairy maybe, but they’re alright. If you saw my legs in a line of ten pairs of legs you wouldn’t point at them and say “worst legs”. Of course all the legs would have to be in the same state, you couldn’t have 9 pairs of lovely tanned smooth legs and mine because, and this is assuming you are a fan of the tanned smooth leg, my legs would be disadvantaged, they would not be on a level playing field, the odds would be stacked against my legs, my legs would not be getting a fair crack of the whip, spin of the wheel, smell of the cheese or squeeze of the melon. In fact this is just the sort of lovely legs competition you would organise, just to make my unhappy. Well, it won’t work. You can take you competition and shove it.

Coming round here comparing my legs with other legs. One of these days why I oughta…

We had a good night on Saturday at the CUC with Talk to Frank, Low Winter Sun and Nick Lawless. We made a good old racket and I think I may have thrown one shape. Only one mind you, standards and all that. Hopefully no one noticed the shape I threw. If they did they would probably compare it with other shapes they have seen thrown and then they would ask themselves “which is the best shape?” and since I am, at best, an indifferent thrower of shapes there is a fair chance that I would be ranked poorly. And then they would turn up at the next gig, with their official league table and inform all and sundry that not only did I have the worst legs but threw the worst shapes as well. This is precisely the sort of thing that makes me regret ever leaving the convent. I mean aquarium. I mean sanatorium. I don’t know what I mean.
So that was a good night. We’re doing some recording tonight for out next single, which will run thusly I think:

Side A: Guts - (Redolent of a drunk hod carrier in tights, sling-backs and a sequin gown at a wedding reception.)

Side B: More - (Essence of The Bay City Rollers being murdered by meth addled iguanas.)

Side C: Taxidermy - (A hint of Tony Bennett singing Heroin whilst having his head slammed in a fridge door.)

I can’t guarantee that these songs are anything like what I have described, but I’ve had a go at it. These should be ready to get your grubby little hoofs on in September. If you come along to witness us supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect at the Williamson Tunnels on September 10th I’ll even throw in a free look at my ankles.

Friday 12 August 2011

Is there an aching in your bacon?

The following will be as topical as it ever gets around here.

1. People throwing bricks through windows and stealing trainers = idiots.

2. MPs bleating on and on and on and on about how unacceptable and mindless and criminal it is = parasites.

3. The Prime Minister making out that he had something to do with easing the situation = utter cunt.

4. Reactionary-middle-class puffed up peacocks and peahens whining on about how they should have their benefits stopped and national service would do them good = short sighted bourgeoisie pricks.

5. Rioting isn’t new.

6. Every time this happens a bunch of bright sparks have a good long look at it, come to the conclusion that, as social animals, the society in which an individual finds itself actually shapes the behaviour of that individual, that there are clear sociological and economic reasons why these things happen and if they were changed then life would actually be better, not just for the people who were suffering but for absolutely everyone involved.

7. Solving the problem gets a bit boring/expensive/difficult.

8. They remake the Invasion of the Body Snatchers again and nothing ever changes.

That would be my 2 pence worth. Let’s just say we’re all right and never speak of this again.

In other news, we will be unleashing our flaming loins on the public on the 20th of August at the Lomax in Liverpool. If the heat emanating from our loins is too much for you, you’ll have to make room for the people at the back who aren’t weak and afraid of the power of our loins. It has the power to heal; it can make people with bad posture stand up straight, discipline the lazy eyes, in some cases it can even cure male pattern baldness. Sometimes it gets so hot you can toast a marshmallow on it, or a nice crumpet.

Ooh, I could do with a nice hot crumpet right now. And then something to eat! Sauce! Shut your face! Phwoaaar!

The other day I learned that sometimes you might want to rock out, but sometimes you want to do more, you want to rock out with you cock out. I can see the plus points in that, but also the downside. If you like your rock, you probably enjoy rocking out. But you might not enjoy rocking out if those around you are also cocking out. The verb cocking is not usually used in this sense, but I know you’ll know what I mean.

Terry - cock in or cock out?
You decide!

Sometimes I like a bit of jazz. I used to play a little in a modest way. Sometimes I would be jazzing so hard I would actually want to put my cock away, jazzing with my cock in as it were.

There you have it. Yin and yang. Cock in and out. Sunrise, sunset. You can have it both ways. OOOOH! SAUCE! PHWOOOOOOAR! SHUT YOUR FACE!