That's why, asshole.

Whilst walking around town to buy a tin of beans for dinner I looked up from the pavement to see the singer of this Exeter band walking a couple of steps ahead of me with his girlfriend. He had his arm around her like he was some hot shit and he looked happy. I know the guy to say hello to but I didn't want to today. His vanity pisses me off and I wasn't in the mood. I don't really understand how humans can be vain when we treat each other so badly without even knowing. Instead of saying hi, I stopped where I was and watched them walk off into the distance. Ressuming my walk and staring at the ground, I noticed a big pile of dogshit in my path. I neatly side stepped it and wondered if he ever steps in shit whilst out walking with his girlfriend; too distracted by her beauty to be nervously scanning the streets for excrement. I doubted it, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy to embarrass himself in front of girls. He seemed like he had a natural shit avoiding instinct - he didn't need to be looking for the stuff, that isn't cool and he ain't no shit heel. I wondered if he ever left floater which wouldn't flush or if he'd ever blocked her toilet and had to explain what had happened. I wondered if he feels ok when naked infront of her or if he's got a little beer gut, odd cock and a hairy ass. But mostly I thought about shit. Then I thought about the fact that I didn't even see her face.

MoonChild: Ride the fuckin' Lightning.

Strangely enough I don't remember wiritng the two posts from August. Why the fuck did I want to change my name to Craig? I think it has something to do with returning to employment and the drink habit I get every time I get a job. Last week i went to work with one of the worst hangovers I've ever had. It was a sunny Thursday morning, I stepped out of my van into the school carpark and saw all the pupils and teachers milling about happily. I felt the last of the booze ravaging about in my system and thought "I'm fucked." I reassured myself by thinking about if I were fired I could just start my fifth tenure on good old jobseekers. I wasn't fired, but i have realised i shouldn't drink so much. Instead i will spend my evenings working on my contemporary masterpiece about a piece of shit weirdo who is on the fringe of society. It's going to be like a sexed up Alan Bennet monologue. Bellow is a scene from it.


The was a certain amount of pride in the fact that I didn't sleep in a bed. I slept on a pile of duvets and quilts on the floor in my sleeping bag. Going away from the night involved taking half of the bed with me. I'd always kind of hoped someone would come back here one night, on an informal sex visit. If they were digusted by the crust punk bed I'd know they were too materialistic for me and we certainly wouldn't be doing any fucking. The bed was a sort of test. It was a sad pile of shit. It was where I slept and now there was a girl on it. I had at least three sex dreams about her in the past two weeks so it seemed strange that she was actually here in person. We sat with our backs against the wall, our legs touching.

She looked into my eyes and firmly said, "I've cheated on him before you know. It's alright."

She seemed very sexually experience and I became slightly unnerved, I hadn't slept with anyone for nearly four years and had only had one girlfriend when I was 19 years old. Lately when I've taken a piss I'd wonder if my dick would fall off into my hand, dead from lack of use.

- Craig