Category Archives: cheese balls

nearly frosty

Apart from a few Cheese Balls (the absolute king of cheese corn snacks, really, they’re like an evolved Wotsit and more moreish than Kylie’s charlie) I ate nothing last night. But I did tape Masterchef which I watched at midnight drooling like a cracked up Winehouse before retiring to bed, partially sober and very tired, and sleeping like a smacked up Doherty.

Earlier in the evening Myfwt and I met up with Notagay (link right, filed under ‘he’s not gay, okay’) in a rather downmarket hostelry for a drinks in fucking Wimbledon. I knew it was a bit below par because it was over populated by those wiry pale men that drink lager and look like they enjoy porn and assault, the barmaid screaming ‘Dave! Service! I’m busting for a big piss!’ didn’t exactly set the tone for champagne and oysters either. Anyway, Myfwt and I found a table and Notagay joined us shortly after and we settled down.

A pleasant evening ensued, Notagay and I had a few pints of ale and Myfwt enjoyed a few G&T’s which we supped slowly, mainly because we were all gassing at once. So much nattering went on that we found ourselves on the ‘blast’ side of closing time and we were virtually turfed out into the night. All the good intentions of taking a bus were poo poed when a black cab slunk past and Mywft and I bid a fond farewell to Notagay and we disappeared off home.

It’s a lovely day today, fucking cold but beautifully bright and sunny. I’m enjoying not feeling like I’ve spent all night being Abu Hamza’s bitch due to over indulgence and as a result my day at work is easier to deal with. Speaking of which, it’s a short post today because I’m extraordinarily busy but before I go some information on today’s youtube entry.

This band look ridiculous. This may have something to do with their being a Swiss lot but any band who can lay claim to a tune called ‘Phallic Tantrum’ can’t be that bad. Their importance as pioneers of thrash/black metal cannot be understated and even now their influence can be heard in more contemporary acts such as Emperor and Dimmu Borgir. But their reach is wider than that, both Kurt Cobain and Dave Grohl were inspired by them, the latter even used the CF front man Tom Gabriel Fischer to perform on his metal compilation project Probot, more on that tomorrow. Do check out the awesome ‘death grunt’ employed by the lead fellow. It’s lovely.


poison the well

Perhaps one of the greatest pleasures in life is taking a bloody good shit whilst reading Viz. I’ve tried it with motorcycle magazines, books, newspapers… No. It has to be Viz and it has to be one of those turds that fall out of one following a gentle contraction, similar to the inertia of pushing a small child down a hill on a sledge, and allowing gravity to take control.

This delight was the antithesis of what occurred this morning. I have a hangover, entirely my fault, met Frank last night for a few and fell into a bottle of wine which inspired an OCD episode that perpetuated more wine, which beget OCD, at the time it’s a wonderful vicious circle. I usually wake up to find all my furniture has been slightly adjusted for ergonomic / aesthetic purposes, that I’ve made radical decisions, minutiae to the untrained eye but to me essential progressive developments in the living space. Obviously the following day the previous nights concerns aren’t as valid as they were at the time, but I always appreciate what my drunk OCD self has done with the place, it’s rather like realising one is fucking unhinged.

Anyway, back to the shit. I woke up late after failing to hear the radio click on at the designated time, deaf in my right ear again, and hurriedly rushed to get dressed, get the tooth poo out of my mouth and gulp down life affirming water. I vetoed the decision to fucking cycle or drive, I wanted to ride, and it was just as I about to fasten the strap on my crash helmet when I felt a twinge in my botty and the dead weight of a few pounds of masticated pasta, sausage, onion, broccoli in a parsley and garlic sauce with two pints of Fosters a bottle of Beaujolais and a handful each of cheese balls and onion rings drop into the back of my plumbing.

Like some lunatic stripper I discarded a mountain of clothing in 20 seconds, drop gloves, helmet off, rucksack down, bike jacket flung, roll down heavy duty trousers over boots, this is particularly hassley, though vital unless one wants to shit with one knees together, sexy little panties off and before back skin had touched chod bin I was farting through a rip curl of effluvia. I’d not eaten any peppers yet this jet of misery was boiling fucking hot, ouch, actually. It was only when I was sat there following the decision to not read Viz as the circumstances were incorrect that I noticed my nose was running and that, over and above the hangover, I felt fucking ill.

So that’s it. I’m with another cold, not content with living in my face it’s also made home in my arsehole, I’m on my 4th bloody plops today, the last 3 have had to be undertaken at work. It’s one thing to have what can politely be described as a ‘tummy upset’ at home where hound of the baskerville growls and barks just occur for ones amusement, and another to be sat feet away from colleagues separated only by a flimsy door and sounding like Iraq.

I’ve tried laying tissue paper over the water to dull the sound but I’m just firing right through it, the distraction cough isn’t of any use, apart from increasing the pressure of the shit-jet, I actually fired over the trench an hour ago, it’s impossible to follow the complex patterns of sound. Instead I’m using the ignition method, one is switching ones engine off and on using a well-honed muscle, when running the engine is backfiring somewhat.

One of the best bassists in the business, I’m off to empty my back.