December 2005
Saturday, December 31st, 2005

“Stop throwing the Constitution in my face,” Bush screamed back. “It’s just a goddamned piece of paper!”

So Zef got me a scarf, and Michael got me a bottle of JD, and the old man got me some books innit. Good, useful books. Safety first.

So I was up in Rugby with that old man and his lady for a few days. Got a years’ worth of telly in, which was good. Copped Early Doors, a Craig Cash penned pub sitcom of sorts, some Catweazel, and a whole bunch of season four of The Sopranos, best show on TV (no Gwil, I haven’t seen Deadwood yet, no Gwil and Luke, I don’t like The Sopranos because it glamorises machismo and crime, losers, watch it, Jesus). Totally won the Spot The Intro quiz. I kicked ass on 90s. Serious!

While I was there JTWR MySpaced me, which is dope cos I’ve been trying to get hold of that bra for time. We shall link on return to London, so I’ll hold back ATD11 a few weeks so he can hop on that shit. SO far the thing is looking tight – look out for fresh dope from Bashy and me, MissOddKid, some Deathray, PiL, blah blah. Hot hot hot.

The Wisdom Of Auntie Sheila Part 1
“All dogs are the same”


I’m in Wales now, North, Bangor, to be specific. The townies have been fed after midnight, it seems, and have multiplied crazily. I nearly caused a riot walking down the street yesterday. Dougie Moo and Benji later commented, separately, that I am insane to wear an orange tracksuit in Bangor, as I might have been stabbed. However, a number of young Scouse ladies have voiced approval, one just now in the goliath new Tesco they’ve erected, that sells EVERYTHING, apart from ice and moustache wax. Bangor, incidentally, is suffering a water crisis – the tap stuff is undrinkable as someone dumped some bodies in the water last month or something. Serious! Bangor is harsh man.

Marek is less large than he used to be, but he is still tonk, and just died his eyebrows. He looks like Bert or Ernie, but he says he looks like some Manga nutbar, and I suppose he does too. but he does spend an inordinate amount of time playing this online sword and sorcery weirdness. Word Of Warcraft it is called. Marek is a big mong with no shoes called Etuhu, he is trying to find a fish, and is being chased by a gorilla. It’s OK though, as he can turn into a bear at will. And a cat. And he has a big hammer. He can also turn invisible, but when he does I can see him.

It is taking him an awful long time to find his gay fish, I must say.

Anyway. In other news, my Mam’s dog, Tess, is on MySpace, weirdly, looking for dogs, so go hit that bitch the fuck up. And that Keith Tenniswood remix of Liverpool was Adam Walton’s song of the year in his top 50 countdown. Safety first Walton!

Remember 911?

Remember Katrina?

Remember Jonathan Aitken? You can hire the baby and arms peddling nob for your parties now. Like a clown. Wow.

Plus, them rotten mochyn (which is Welsh for pig) can arrest man for anything nowadays! Well, as of tomorrow. Happy New Year! I’m out of here!

— Saturday, December 31st, 2005

Friday, December 30th, 2005

OK, so I haven’t got time to tie up the massive post I’ve been making notes for these past few days, so here is a photo of Ally my little brother with Kron, his guitar. I hope it makes you feel festive.

— Friday, December 30th, 2005

Tuesday, December 27th, 2005

Oops, I forgot for the second day running. Eagle eayed viewers will have noticed a new song in the music section, but to the rest of you – the 7 minute epic, Genocide Is Coming To The USA is now availiable to download. Get in there! Play it round the dinner table! Cheer your Mammy up!

— Tuesday, December 27th, 2005

Tuesday, December 27th, 2005

One of Zef’s little mates spent all last night rushing between the dining room and the kitchen vomiting, until someone told him to use the toilet, then it was upstairs, downstairs, upstairs downstairs, poor little sod. The rest of the teenagers spent the night playing craps and roulette and blackjack with Maurice The Wife Ignoring Croupier, and I played too and won NOTHING AT ALL, despite an early winning streak.

But nobody was thinking about the squirrels, were they?

Poor squirrels.

So, that bastard Zef never got me a Christmas present! He spent all day in town today buying himself fitted hats and sports jackets, after foisting 436 vomiting seventeen year olds on his poor mother and brethren last night, and now he’s in his room sulking because I told him to “get out of my sight”! He doesn’t know he’s born! When I was his age I was paying my own rent and my own food and working all the hours somebody’s Skygod sent, and I bought my family Christmas presents and didn’t have my friends over on Boxing Day to vomit! And I didn’t sulk! Only occasionally, when my girlfriends would find out I was cheating on them. Or when I ran out of fags. Forsooth!

I am going to claim one of his fitted as my own, I think. That might learn him. Otherwise I fear he is doomed to grow up into a SELFISH ASSHOLE! And that would make one of us very sad.


The wisdom of Uncle Maurice part one:

“Man with no grass, him look for lawn.”

The wisdom of Keith part 1:

“Man with no grass, him look for weed.”

More wisdom than I can handle, frankly!

— Tuesday, December 27th, 2005

Monday, December 26th, 2005

Poor Old Man of mine is full of ill and can barely talk! So I shall go up to Rugby and see him tomorrow. Poor next brother down of mine Marek is full of work and is languishing in North Wales, away from his amazing family! How sad! I shall see him too, within an amount of days.

But for now, I shall be in my Mammy house in Winchester. It is now occupied by us three brothers above, and Michael, who is Mammy’s Keef’s son, and a red clad auntie Sheila and a gambling uncle Maurice and a large-gobbed cousin Gail (see below) and her finely bearded beau Jim and two of our old neighbours Dennis and June and a load of Zef’s nasty little mates, running up and down the stairs in search of booze, or something. And a pair of drooling border collies, chasing each other about in ever decreasing circles, tripping over my laptop wire. I would place a pox on their heads, but they are dogs already. Ha!

I got two more presents. I got a bottle of Jack Daniels off of Michael (whoo!) and a radio controlled car off of Sheila and Maurice. How ace is that? I always wanted one. It doesn’t even have wires! It is amazing! It zooms about remotely and harasses the dogs! Ah ha ha ha!

Maurice is tutoring Michael on the finer art of Craps. Soon we shall gamble, for pennies. I SHALL WIN ALL THE PENNIES! Else sulk. Yes yes yes.

— Monday, December 26th, 2005

Sunday, December 25th, 2005

I got a roulette wheel and a book called The Good Soldier Svejk and The Gangsta Rap Colouring Book, and really sweet little note on a tiny peice of paper, so I did pretty damn good I’d say. Zef is peeling potatoes and saying “boredom” repeatedly, but I don’t see what he’s got to moan about as I got him series one of Thundercats on DVD, and he got so drunk last night he collapsed in a pile of sick in the bathroom, AND he tried to hug some townies and they tried to fight him AND they failed AND he hasn’t got a hangover because he’s seventeen, the bastard.

I got my Mam some Buffy toys – she got Angel, Spike, and Anya, so they can have a festive spitroast. I am not sure how amused she was by that. I am amused. Anya comes with a little bunny rabbit. How ill is that? Yes it is very ill.

So, yes. I hope you are all having lovely days, whatever it is you’re doing. Big up my br’er Marek, holding it down at work in North Wales.

So. I had the worst night’s sleep I have ever had last night. I spent most of it repeatedly waking up from the most terrifying nightmares, and desperately trying not to go back to sleep, but every time I’d manage, after screaming silently and struggling with my unseen violating captor for eons, to wake up, I’d quickly be dragged back into sleep, and the same cursed nightmare. And I was sleeping next to my brother Alex, on a blow up bed, and I tried to call to him for help, and hit him awake, but he never, the viscous little bastard.

Eventually the nightmares turned into a strange lucid encounter with 50 Cent and The Game, who tag-freestyled each other, then kissed, which was odd. Game kept apologising for his performance and blaming it on his knee, the cartilage of which scritched and scraped ghoulishly.

Still. I am fine. My eyeballs are sore, but nobody is testing any drugs on me. Cos I’m not deemed “neglected or abused”, although I am, temporarily, outside of the US.

Oh, sorry, I’ll back up here.

The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), have recently decided that previous regulations, banning the testing of chemicals and pesticides on child-human subjects, were archaic and silly. Nowadays, they say, you can test on kiddies, in the following instances:

1. Children who “cannot be reasonably consulted,” such as those that are mentally handicapped or orphaned newborns, may be tested on. With permission from the institution or guardian in charge of the individual, the child may be exposed to chemicals for the sake of research.

2. Parental consent forms are not necessary for testing on children who have been neglected or abused.

3. Chemical studies on any children outside of the U.S. are acceptable.

Get that?

6,644 people are still missing after Katrina (remember that?). 1000-odd of them are children. There are also an awful lot of children, abused and otherwise, outside of America. In places like Iraq, and Afghanistan, and China, and, um, Winchester.

Little babans everywhere.

If I believed in God, I’d pray for him to look after them. But I don’t, and even if I did, I’d know, deep down, that He ain’t got time to look after no abus-ed babans. He’s too busy telling George Bush what to do.

So, I shall fret, and read things, and feel bad, and fire off emails to people, and write about it.

Dunno what you’ll do.

Whatever though, I hope you have a very Merry Mass Of The Christ Baban, even if it is but another day for some. I wish love on you all. Like a pox, but a nice one.

— Sunday, December 25th, 2005