A Tale Of Two Hoachers

It's inevitable now that the Arctic Monkeys are massive, broadsheet journalist are struggling to keep up. The worst effort has to be The Independent's Simon Price's recent "review" where, amongst other idiocies, he describes the Monkeys fan base as "the 853 Kamikaze division."

If he'd even bothered sticking that into Google he would've realised that's the name given to The Others following. I suppose when you spend that long doing your hair, something has to go - clearly, in this instance its 'basic research'. The other thing I love about this review is his main complaint about 'I Bet That You look Good On The Dancefloor": "this week's probable chart-topper, is a sarcy dig at someone 'dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984'. Which gets my back up, because that's pretty much all my favourite music" hahaha!

Little Bear, lighter aloft, Glasto 2002. Soundtrack: The Killers, 'Indie Rock n Roll'. Not pictured: London reaching for his revolver... 

I can guarantee you literally minutes of fun with this website. I personally reccomend getting the poor bastard to dance the macarena. Or do his drunkard impression.

www.subservientchicken.com

Last night was Neil Crystal's last ever gig as Kain's drummer, which meant much sadness-sprinkled hoachage, as my friend Tim might say. We bought him a half-bottle of Buckfast and made him a card with celebrity endorsements from Michelle McManus, Har Mar Superstar, and Pete Doherty ("Smack? I'd rather have Neil!"). He described the card as 'Freaky' but he didn't seem to have any such reservations about the Buckfast. Has anyone ever noticed the little warning on Buckfast labels that says - "Use of the word Tonic wine does not imply health-giving"? Well, after last night I can safely confirm that ne'er a truer word was ever spake.

Anyway, my old friend Kevin is returning to Glas Vegas from Belfast, where he is currently studying the art of professional pain infliction. Sorry, dentistry. Now, whenever Kevin comes home, a few things happen without fail. One is a full-scale levelling of whichever nightclub is unlucky enough to admit him. The second is some kind of legal infringement usually involving acts of superhuman strength. The third is guaranteed vomiting. You can understand why I'm concerned. After all, I've got a weekend with The Glitterati to look forward to, I need my beauty sleep. Ah well, we only live once, and seemingly not for very long...

Carlos is in the bedroom having his evil way with someone, Richard and I are placing bets on who it is. I conked out around half 5 after spunking away £100 on plonk. There were about 40 or so people, only half of whom I had any idea who they were. The paddling pool idea didn't come off, though the Tequila jelly certainly did. My head is too fried to add anything else.

Watch in wonderment as I coherently type this Blog entry, free of flaws and faults. In just over one hour - that's 60 minutes, children - my currently empty abode will be bustling with people of all shapes and sizes, on a hoach-fuelled adventure. I shall return once the Tequila jelly comes out to play...

Love,
Glasgow

I don't know why you would invent it, and one dreads to think what kind of foul, depraved purpose it could serve, but Dear Santa, can I please have an electronic anus for Chirstmas?

Love, Glasgow

PS - And while you're at it, how's about a full set of these?