Issue #1
ITS HERE!!
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This is the first outing,edition,sedition,expedition,thing.
We would like to introduce you.
You,please meet you.If you get bored with yourself please do not be rude.Make a polite excuse and leave.
Self abusive intolerance is only acceptable with self adoration.
You always hate the one you are.
If you've nothing better to do that is.We wouldn't want to disturb you you understand.Oh no.If you are sooooo busy we understand.It can be very hard to spend a couple of minutes saying something.
On the other hand if you've nothing better to do with your time because its SO boring,then drop us a line or two at [email protected]
We could think of nothing more enjoyable than to have to weed through mounds and mounds of inane email full of mad peoples utterances.
DO IT NOW???!!!
Sir Rodnreel Hook today unleashed horrific facts concerning Quadra Pedal Perches.They will no longer wear galoshes.
Chickens are reported to have been gutted(and the remains put in plastic bags).
Sir Rodnreel was quoted-which left a four inch gash where his mouth used to be.Sadly all he can do is spout drivel,wear copious amounts of leather whilst hanging himself and peeling a tangerine with his teeth.
"We see a great future in local and
national politics for Sir R" said Per Vert,front bed opposition leader.
Ah!No!Indeed!It was a fish it was.
"We are walking on Downing Street" said a fish finger spokesfish. Leaves a nasty smelly trail says I.
Never never let fish walk all over you.Stand lactose for your rights.Don't be scaled down by terrorfishes.Be your own man and fight at prawn.
I once was a fish until I decided to make a stand.Its rather nice actually,made out of wood and stained a nice dark oak with a rather delicate inlay of marble alabaster.
Try it.You never know.
Here are a few trips:-
drop-fall-tumble-naughty smokey stuff - Bognoregis - ham sandwich and custard picnic - around the world and up the Eiger and back in time for tea.
As for musicians. Spending money on what they can't really afford while moaning about what they really need.
I feel sorry for the partners.Unless completely cold blooded they end up having to praise what they don't understand or totally dislike.Anything for an easy life.
Where has the magic gone when you could say you were going out with the
keyboard player or guitarist from the Clinging Mud Squats(not the drummer-never the drummer.We may come from Venus but they come from the primaeval soup de merde).
My own experience is that my music room has taken on satanic proportions.Boxes,wires,instruments,
paper,paper,paper,computers(which interbreed),bits of metal i've forgotten the reason for,but which may come in useful later on .C.D.'s by the boxload.Paper,floppydiscs,paper.
Cassettes ,speakers,small speakers,patchbays,dozens of old mugs of coffee.......
Amongst all this confusion it's all too easy to forget why I'm here.Oh for the days when all I had was my dads piano.All I had was my imagination.Now all I have is too much time to find,alter,invent a new patch.After all,there is only five minutes.It's all forgotten after that.
Maybe I'll save up for a seat on the space shuttle and take up busking on the moon.Actually,it sounds rather good-dun it!!
I think this is a grand idea.A five minute rule.To measure the space between any two thoughts or ideas.Any longer and you forget what you're thinking about.
Any longer and you forget what you're thinking about.
Any longer and you........oh s**t!!
That's the problem with the world at the moment.Too much thinking.
Who could invent the atom bomb if they had the memory span of a polo mint?
Mind you,making love wouldn't be much fun.You'd forget the point and have a cigarette before you'd finished.
Coitus Cigarettus.
Still,there would always be time for the four minute mile and boiling an egg wouldn't there?
Once upon a time there was a chicken called Derek.He was a good little chicken,always wanting to be the best little chicken he could be.
A very religious chicken.He always wanted to be a parson.He always wanted to be sacrificed.Why?Well, only a parson knows.
One day he walked to the bottom of his garden and made a bonfire.He lit his bonfire and climbed to the very,very top,and tied himself to a steak.
This is how Derek became the patron saint of mixed up meat kebabs.
Don't try this at home children.
Your parents might cheer.
He came from Yorkshire.
He came from the wild hills and dark satanic mills.
His name was Passing Wind.
He stood upon the bitter-cold moors;upon the highest,severest craggy hilltops.The icy winds meant nothing to him.The biting drive of the elements seemed to leave him untouched.
His stare was as hard as the land about him.Arms outstretched,he was lord of all he purveyed.
He travelled far to reach his home.Through frontier towns.Towns of ungodly ruination.Peolped by.........people who knew nothing about peopling.
At home he was......................Eric The Accountant.
So this is it then.
This is the bit where we say au revoir,farewell,bog off.
At least now I can get a cuppa tea.
Don't forget chaps and chapesses,you can send us your thoughts.
AND PLEASE DON'T FORGET - put them in a plastic bag as I'm fed up of cleaning my trousers.
Don't forget to don't forget.
Drat! I've forgotten.
Bye bye everyone.
Bye bye.
