Urgent Avenue/Lucida Console Fanzine

Screenplay #6

2011-11-04T17:06:00.000-07:00

Fat Shifters

Slater Wilcox

High paid jobs and get fit regimes are the new cocaine for yuppie pussies. Bums are trampled to death by joggers, stray dogs are hideously scalded by steaming cappuccinos, and loners experience major social suspension. In this cruel world of the have and have nots who can cut the mustard and who’s just cuttin’ the cheese?

SCENE ONE

Jon and Julia jog down the street in jogging tights, talking about the latest episode of THE BIG BANG THEORY.

Jon: Did you see it last night? It was hysterical! There was a bit where Jared nearly got laid but he didn’t cuz he’s too annoying and socially awkward to get any of the pussy that’s banging. But it is funny right? HA!

They neatly side step a lonely looking fellow with no friends.

Julia: Eurgh, did you see that guy? I think he was checking out my camel toe. Pervert.

Jon: Your camel toe? No way Jules, he was checking out my M-C-T.

Julia: MCT?

Jon: Yeah, Male Camel Toe. And my camel toe is way bigger than yours.

Julia: Nuh-uh! [Hoiks her jogging bottoms up to accentuate her camel toe]

Jon slows his jogging pace, looks down at the contours of Julia’s newly configured camel toe and nods in an impressed manner. They then continue to jog in silence for a minute or two.

Jon: Where shall we eat tonight? Or do you wanna get something easy from Waitrose? I kind of fancy getting something from Waitrose, work today was so boring and I need something delicious to perk me up. Karen at work has such an attitude problem, she bosses everyone around and she’s not even senior management! I mean where the hell does she get off on that?

[They start to cross a high bridge which runs over a murky, sinister looking river]

Julia: Yeah, that is kind of weird and Jesus Jon, FUCKING BORING. I can’t live in a world when I have to start competing with you over camel toes! Go to hell MOTHERFUCKERRRRRR......

Julia abruptly cuts away from Jon and takes a running leap over the barrier, headfirst off the bridge.

That's why, asshole.

2011-10-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-10-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

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

Crime of Passion

2011-08-29T03:13:00.000-07:00

I have become obsessed with Big Brother Skateboarding magazine again. It always happens when I ebay my possessions - I sell them, then a few weeks later want my shit back plus more. It happened when my mum threw away my Smurf collection when I was 20 years old. For years I had these eight smurf figures on the windowsill in my room; I thought they looked cool but it may explain why I so rarely got any pussy - guys with enormous penises and interesting personalities don't have Smurf collections. One day I returned home to find my mum had thrown away my motherfucking smurfs. It wasn't a big deal but over time I couldn't stop thinking about what happened to them. Where had they gone? On some crazy fuckin' smurfin' adventures no doubt. Then I started to miss them and one night shortly afterwards I freaked out and bought 10 smurfs off ebay. I felt very smug and I knew treacherous mother wouldn't dare throw these away cuz then I'd hit her back with 20 more smurfs. When they came in the post the reality of smurfs wasn't as exciting as the prospect and I remembered all the times those little fuckin' smurfs hadn't got me laid. What the fuck does a 20 year old man do with 10 plastic smurf figures? I hid them in shame.

Right now I am selling off my Big Brother collection but it has made me nostalgic. Big Brother went far beyond skateboarding and it was what got me into writing nonsense in the first place. I have also rediscovered my first crush on a completely unattainable girl - Kendra Gaeta. She wrote for Big Brother from about 1993 to 1999. She was cute and made fun out of a lot of serious skateboarders. Last night I couldn't stop thinking about her and in the morning found her myspace page so I could get the picture which appears at the top of this page. I also found a crazy song Wesley Willis sung about her in 1994:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ebVX17u844

I have also uploaded a page from Lucida Console #7 about a real life crush that happened in 2007 that involved neither Smurfs or Kendra but instead, a real life girl! Very banal.

Riders on the fuckin' storm

2011-08-28T10:48:00.000-07:00

Friday night was my last fling in Plymouth for a while. I was nervous about moving cities so I turned to the bottle. A gin bender - the worst bender. After the gin was finished, my friends and I went to the local shithole bar and drank a bunch of energy drinks. The gin had made me depressed and aggressive and the enegry drink had made me restless. My mind was a mess and I became socially awkward. I tried to talk to a newly discovered major babe (I thought I knew them all in Plymouth) but had to stop: I had lost control of my motor skills and was in serious danger of acting less-than-sexy. I hurried away from the bar and went to find some consolation in some bins. After half an hour of sticking my head in other people's rubbish I entered into emotional turmoil and quickly returned to my friend's house where I fell asleep on the doorstep. I'm quite glad to be moving away from this fuckin' town and in the future I hope to have less homeless tendencies. It's not getting me laid and I always end up feeling mental. The first step towards reinvention is assuming the mysterious pen name of "Craig". So long Plymouth, hope y'all shit yourselves.

- Craig

Suck my Dickens

2011-07-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

Back off tour, feeling downbeat and miserable. This last tour was amazing. El Morgan and The State Lottery made me like I had reached the pinnacle of human happiness. I don't think I could have had a better time. I got home and hit a trough of dispair. I feel like everything is tiresome dogshit but I have no reason. Anyway, enough of the moping; here's the first draft of an idea I had whilst reading Roger Mellie's Profanisaurus Rex. I wanted to make a dictionary of touring band slang and here's my first attempt. Fuck on brothers and sisters.

Charles Dickens
A promoter who puts on a shit show in a shit venue. As in "Fucking hell this promoter looks like a right Charles Dickens" Meaning you may have "Great Expectations" but you're in for "Hard Times" in a "Bleak House".

Early Bird Special
When you're the first person to wake up and you get to shit before anyone else.

Party Blanket
When you sleep on the same floor that you partied on.

Punk Pasta
The famous promoter pasta dish which is prepared hours before the show and left to cool. Compromising of ice cold pasta and a thin film of Tesco value tomato sauce. Especially delicious when it's the only thing you've eaten all day.

Terminal Vanlocity
The point in a van journey where you absolutely can't take anymore and flip the fuck out.

Chunky Drive-by
When someone pukes out of the van window whilst in transit, and the vomit hits a pedestrian or the car behind.

I'm done. This is terrible.

BAM! POW! While you're waiting to hear mortar fire, check this out.

2011-06-24T05:35:00.000-07:00

Attack! Vipers! Promo shot August 2010

This week has seen a splodge of activity on the blog because I feel so goddamn creative and inspired at the moment. This current spell on the dole (my fourth so far) is the best yet. My JSA Personal Advisers should be promoted to SUPERvisers. I mean, they are just THE SHIT. Giving out indespensible advice about starting a career in the local bacon factory and helping me with my fashion dillemas (how didn't I know that Tesco sold cheap clothes?!). I always come away from the jobcentre feeling as sharp as a thumbtack and as charming as George Clooney in a sexy rom com.

I am less than excited about employment and all the bullshit surrounding it but I am excited about having some zines to sell next week. They are being printed in Andrew and Kay's flat right now! In the meantime here's some more stuff to browse over.

A rather bizarre piece from Urgent Avenue #1

It looks like someone puked on a pile of shit!""

2011-06-22T09:20:00.000-07:00

I'm experimenting with a new lay out for my blog which invokes the spirit of Clip Art and Microsoft Publisher 98 - the program I use to make all my zines. I will continue to be willfully horrendous with my design and layout until the style becomes hip and I get famous.

30 Days of Hangover: Europe 2011

2011-06-21T10:32:00.000-07:00

Hello my musical munchers, here is a tasty bit of Dog Days Volume Two for you to browse over. Chew it, nibble it, consume, CONSUME! I'll be selling the full thing on the State Lottery tour next month for £1. Come to one of these shows:

UK TOUR with THE STATE LOTTERY & EL MORGAN & BANGERS

SAT 2ND JUL - THE JAM, BRIGHTON
SUN 3RD JUL - EDGE OF THE WEDGE, PORTSMOUTH
MON 4TH JUL - THE CRICKETERS, KINGSTON
TUE 5TH JUL - PORTLAND ARMS, CAMBRIDGE
WED 6th JUL - PRINCE OF WALES, LEAMINGTON
THU 7TH JUL - THE VICTORIA INN, DERBY
FRI 8TH JUL - ROYAL PARK CELLARS, LEEDS
SAT 9TH JUL - PLUGGED INN, SUNDERLAND
SUN 10TH JUL - THE BANSHEE LABYRINTH, EDINBURGH
MON 11TH JUL - RETRO BAR, MANCHESTER
TUE 12TH JUL - THE CROFT, BRISTOL
WED 13TH JUL - MOZARTS, SWANSEA
THU 14TH JUL - CAVERN, EXETER

I'll be attempting to mill about the shows like a social fairy. You see I have entered a new phase of my life, that of the "great crust romantic". I am trying to force myself into enjoying being social, sexy in a non-creepy way, and crusty. It's a damn hard juggling act. Hope you like these two entries!

Thursday 26^th May

Budapest, Hungary

There are days on tour where you could happily stay in one place for ever and said a fond farewell to your previous existence. I didn’t want to leave Zagreb. Iva is a fine human being to spend time with and Croatia still has so much to offer but we’ve got other more pressing priorities – like driving all day long in Nibbler. Tonight we’re playing underneath “The Party Hostel” in Budapest which is a pretty exciting prospect. I imagine loads of sexy tourists going wild all night long with little or no morals.

I can’t remember the drive to Budapest so let’s assume it wasn’t any fun at all. Crossing the throbbing Danube at 6pm was euphoric. I think Bram Stoker summed it up nicely in Dracula that crossing that banging river feels like you’re crossing a border between the east and west. Things seem slightly spicier and more erotic across that body of water. I also love that feeling whilst on tour that nothing else in the world matters – the feeling of being free and punk, if that makes any sense.

After idling around the party hostel courtyard for a couple of hours drinking beers and smoking cigarettes (courtesy of Papa Roo), the rest of the bands turn up and we begin the proceedings. Tonight we have the displeasure of playing with some sexist Brazilian cunts called Strip No Altar. They are complete turkeys. Before one song their bassist announces,

“This song is about guns, violence, and drugs!”

They have Strip No Altar panties for sale and their album cover is two scantily clad women getting up to some typical “hetro fantasy” lesbian nonsense.

They have dubious lyrics such as:

“I just wanna smoke some crack, I just wanna find a big bed, so I can take my bitch there.”

When they sing the line about smoking crack their drummer pretends to smoke his drumstick...my God. I was a bit drunk and found them completely laughable so shouted for an encore, they didn’t need much encouragement and quickly played one of the sexist humdingers they played earlier in the set. Fuck! Andrew rightfully got really mad at me for spurring them on.

I forget the name of the other band, but I liked them. They sounded like ALL. Anyway, no food or no place to stay tonight and paid very little money. We organised to stay in this guy Peter’s spare apartment in the Gypsy district of town, so no erotic party hostel fantasy tonight. Peter makes sure that we understand it’s very basic accommodation – no shower, toilet flushed with a bucket of water, odd Gypsy neighbours etc. The building itself is incredible, it looks like something out of a WW2 movie – it’s so old and battered. There’s bullet holes in the front of the building from the 1956 Hungarian Revolution and you can see a line where a bomb hit it. Despite its raggedy looks I thought it was quite charming. I sleep in the van for security. A poor choice – our parking space is right next to the hottest back alley piss spot in town and throughout the night I am rudely awoken by men relieving themselves against the wall. Haha, grim.

Friday 27^th May

Cluj-Napoca, Romania

Before leaving the UK Andrew and I blacked out Nibbler’s windows with this stick on film. A tricky procedure that we messed up a couple of times before getting it stuck on bubble free. This morning I utilised these blacked out windows by jerking off in peace, knowing that the people who walked past Nibbler wouldn’t see lil’ monkey playing with himself. Haha, how pathetic (and creepy and illegal).

Micah the Finnish dude who played drums in the ALL band came and got the apartment keys from us as we sat in Nibbler finishing off our nutritious breakfast of crisps, cheese, horseradish sauce, bread and a suspiciously named “Orange Drink”. This meal doesn’t help the fact that we’re all greasy as fuck today and have got to spend the next eight hours making our slimy way to Romania. After sleeping in the van and eating breakfast in the van there’s nothing I like to do more than to spend all day in the van. 30⁰c and Romanian roads, what a fiendish combination! Once we cross the border it doesn’t take long for the Romanian road celebrities to make an appearance – Gypsies on horse and carts, stray dogs, storks in massive nests atop of telegraph pole, fucked up old men who look like Super Mario bumbling about the pavements, half built Gypsy mansions with metallic oriental style roofs, and roadsides littered with people selling bowls of berries.

To see us through this marathon journey we take sustenance from crisps and warm water served at van-temperature. I feel myself turning see thru. Once we arrive in Cluj there is an onslaught of beautiful girls roaming the streets, “full on, non-stop” as the popular phrase says on all the Romanian shop fronts. As we enter into a pesky traffic jam we see the prettiest girl we have collectively seen sat in the back seat of a taxi. Oh Taxi-Girl……your name doesn’t really do you any justice. Sorry for staring.

There’s a festival happening in Cluj to celebrate 800 years of the city so the whole place is rammed with people. This city is something else…so amazing. At the venue we meet the promoter Paul and Schlitz, a band we played several dates with in Romania last year. It’s nice to be so far from home and in the company of friends, plus Schlitz are a totally kick-ass punk rock band! For dinner we are brought a bag full of cheese and radish toasties, argh! They are pretty tasty but the bread and cheese diet is leaving me feeling like a human wreck hanging from a meat hook, I’ve gotta eat some vegetables. Roo and I venture out into the city and come across a green grocer which is still open at 9.30pm. A bit of greenery perks me up and we go and check out the festival which is happening in the square. Up on stage is a terrible Euro-pop duo singing a twatish song with lyrics that Roo interprets as “I’m so greasy all the time, I’m so greasy I want to cry.” They’re singing about being on tour! Once again the show is packed out with about 150 people and some very desirous girls are in attendance, if only I wasn’t so greasy that I want to cry!

The first band “Sk. Ank” (yes, you read that right) play for nearly an hour and cover Jimmy Eat World and Blink 182 in a horrible ska fashion. People go completely apeshit for them. Strip No Altar have followed us like a horrible eggy fart and are playing tonight as well. For fuck sake. They get up on stage and perform their worn out hedonistic diatribe. Grow up and fuck off. They sing about drinking loads of booze too but I have yet to see them drink anything besides water. They are the worst kind of sexist pussies who should be flogged and driven across the land. They perform their hit song “Boomerang”, the general gist of which is “women always return no matter how much of a prick you are”. Urgh. There is a little break in the music and their singer announces “Now I will show you why the ladies ALWAYS come back…” For a moment we all thought he was going to flop out his humongous wanger but no, he just played an uninspired guitar solo. Come on, get your dick out for the lads mate.

I start to feel pretty nauseous and physically broken shortly before we go onstage at 1AM and struggle my way through our set all higledy pigeldy. I am disappointed in my performance and feel annoyed at driving all this way only to suck. Andrew has enjoyed a bit of booze before playing and tells me that he thought I played pretty good, which is ok by me. Much merriment is had after the show and sure enough the 60% Romanian moonshine makes a welcomed appearance but I won’t be enjoying it as I’m driving tonight, alright! Seeing Schlitz again was so good, really friendly guys too. Their punk rock deliciousness is easily better than 90% of the bands we play with but of course they don’t get the recognition they deserve cuz they’re from the ass end of no where. Their bassist Dan was pretty drunk and he jokingly asked, “You’ve been here once before, so why the fuck have you come back? Didn’t you learn?!” Being a young person living in Romania must be pretty difficult, unemployment is rife and it’s difficult to get out. Gotta roll with the punches I guess. But what the fuck do I know? It might rule. Anyway, in my opinion Schlitz were the best band that played this night and I wish them all the best in the future.

Mass Fanzine Alert!

2011-06-15T11:07:00.000-07:00

HAIL PUSSIES! Next month I am on tour with the State Lottery for two weeks. Currently I am on the dole and have 15 pence to my name. I am fucked. However I have reason to be very cheerful indeed - I have made two fanzines in time for the tour - Slime Capsule #1 and Dog Days #2. I'll be selling them from the merch stand in the hopes of having enough money to afford breakfast the next day. Here's a snippet from Slime Capsule called "The Beers in My Life". I assure you there more exciting things going on in the fanzine than this article, such as the Heavy Mental screenplay, Attack Vipers interview, a guide to stalking telepathically, reviews of music and books, plus some sweet comics from Oliver John Ward. In the mean time check out this turgid bullshit. Smell ya soon, humpers.

(Here's a picture of my Master Journalist Apprentice Wesley Moon who also features heavily in Slime Capsule. I hope you look forward to hearing of our CONSPIRACY BUSTING ADVENTURES!)

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The Beers in my Life

By Slater Wilcox

Like most people I thought beer was pretty disgusting when I first drank it, but I guess Courage Light 2.3% ale wasn’t a great starting point for a young boozer. I remember drinking a can of Stella in the top bunk at my friend Toby’s house when I was 15, it made me feel very sick indeed. In the night I heard that motherfucker drinking a pint of blackcurrant squash really loudly, taking massive audible gulps - “GRULP-GRULP”- and my stomach churned. I thought I might puke on him, luckily I kept it down and I guess I’ve been keeping it down ever since. I have had friends and relatives succumb to alcoholism but the good times with beers outweighs the negative. Henry Miller once wrote a book called “The Books in my Life” which documented every book which meant something to him or provided him with inspiration, following this highly intelligent and informative vein, Slater Wilcox documents…“The Beers in my Life”.

FIREBRAND Czech Lager, Cans (2004)

My first love. It bit me like a snake then left my life like a ghostly lover. I used to sit in my room in my first year with a twelve pack (if I was feeling wealthy) put on Alkaline Trio and sing at the top of my lungs. One night I cheated on Firebrand with white wine and ended up puking off the pier into the sea, then falling asleep on a bench. I stumbled home and did some synchronized puking with Roo into my toilet. That was probably my first case of “wine after beer, Oh dear”. Around 2004/2005 Firebrand became the choice beerdrink of my contemporaries on many a wild and lonely night. Sadly it went the way of the dinosaurs and became part of boozy myth and legend. I’ll never forget Castle Rock in 2006 when we bought the last out of date 24 pack of Firebrand ever from Threshers. It was one of the hottest days of the summer, I turned down a girl I should have passionately embraced cuz my mind was all fuckin’ twisted up over the last ever Firebrands. Firebrand was discontinued and I was heartbroken. The first time is the deepest, as those sentimental slopsters say.

Groschl 24 Pack, Bottles (2005)

Roo and I made literally no friends in our second year of university. I was 21 and a fucking social recluse. However we did drink ice cold bottles of grolsch every night whilst watching Dawson’s Creek and Scrubs. I can remember dangling empty bottles on strings out of our window and clinking them against the flat below’s windowpanes, just to piss them off. In a similarly daring “in-flat” adventure we even tried to drink 24 beers over the course of 24 episodes of Dawson’s Creek series 2 in one sitting. Of course, we ended up drinking about 12 beers in the course of two episodes and falling asleep on the sofa. Interesting fact: During the three years of university education, I had no sexual experiences at all.

Red Stripe, Six Pack of Cans (2006)

Roo and I lived in a shop during our third year. We moved in with two hedgers who loved drugs. Before getting involved with any of that nonsense I used to frequent the corner shop two hundred yards from my house and buy six packs of Red Stripe for £5.99. I’d buy one at about 2pm then go back at 6pm feeling buzzed on beer and guilty that I was buying another one. I’m sure the clerk didn’t give a flying fuck. One day I drank a bunch of beers and jumped off the pier at 1pm then fell asleep on the beach. Another time I got wasted and on my nightly stroll invited six homeless people sleeping outside the Salvation Army back to my house to sleep in the warm. I was deeply hurt when they said no, but in hindsight I just probably looked like a twat. I stopped drinking Red Stripe when I ran out of money and started drinking Barn Stormer cider instead. A bad time in my life which shan’t be documented here.

Carlsberg Export (2009)

During my first tenure on the dole (which lasted 6 months) I developed a fixation with eight packs of Carlsberg export. Four deliciously brewed chums sitting there in Spar shop, tightly knit, shoulder to shoulder and ice cold! If I had one in my possession it meant the day was assured, everything would fall into place right up until I fell asleep. If not, the day might be a whirligig of disparity dipshitiness. Greg, the ex singer of Crocus, once came round to my house on one of the latter misery days when I couldn’t afford anything – I was playing Lego Batman in my dressing gown at 2.30pm in the dark when he gently knocked on the window. In a lugubrious movement, I drew the blinds and solemnly greeted him. The first thing he said as he looked about the room was “depression chamber”. You don’t know who’s been swimming naked until the tide goes out, and I definitely had my balls out at that time in my life.

Tuborg Bottled Lager (2010 – 2011)

Probably the reason I have such a bad attitude to work is because I have only ever worked fucking shit jobs. Beer delivery bitch, fishmonger, greengrocer/cardboard box crusher. It seems like I’m on a personal quest to get the most obscurely rubbish job possible. I first started getting into Tuborg whilst working at the fishmongers. It was so horrid there that I developed quite the drinking habit. After a long day of marine death mongering I would drive to the Texaco and buy 8 ice cold Tuborgs for £5. The best part about Tuborg is the ring pull tops which eliminate the tricky problem of opening beers whilst driving. So confident I became with my in-transit beer drinking skills that I even used to smash ‘em down when I started cycling back from work.

Battlefield: Los Angeles [non spoiler alert]

2011-03-15T03:34:00.000-07:00

The hangover ran it's course. I felt insane. Where better to get some reconcilliation than another pit of despair Plymouth cinema sunday!

This time I had spent the day playing football and drinking beers on the steps of my friend's house. He had broken his collar bone at football but didn't want to go to the hospital for some odd reason. We came up with a plan to see True Grit without paying. We were going to check all the fire escapes and failing that - bum rush the entrance. It was sure fire and half cocked.

At that moment as we were just about to leave, my friend's step dad came and picked him up and carted him off to hospital at such a spanking pace that I hardly had time to realise I was alone again. Nevermind, I thought. I still wanted to go to the cinema.

By the time I got there I had sobered up a little and felt exhausted, I knew how this was going to turn out. True Grit wasn't on so I asked the kid on the desk about sci fi; he recommended Battlefield: Los Angeles. I paid my £8 and entered the screen, I had tried in vain to get in through the back of the cinema but only managed to get into the bowling alley next door, so gave up.

I watched 10 minutes of the most generic alien invasion bullshit and then fell asleep for the rest of the film. I awoke with a wet crotch and heard someone behind me say, "Well I guess that was the Alien's Achillies Heel." I can explain the wet crotch as I had dropped my drink in my lap whilst I slept, but for the life of me I don't know what the heck happened in that film.

Groundbreaking Feminist Sci Fi Weed Theory

2011-02-20T10:09:00.000-08:00

Last night was to supposed be "Telepathic Date Night". It's an idea I had for SlimeCapsule. I figured that in times of great desperation it isn't entirely impossible to go in through the back door of a girl's mind to win her over. I bought a ten bag of weed, some atmospheric candles, printed out a 6X10 picture of my "date", and put on some binaural music. After the first joint I remembered Aliens was on TV at 9. I stood my date up. Sorry. Instead I watched Aliens stoned and came to the conclusion that it was the most radical feminist film ever made. I even wrote a review whilst high. Check it out! Spelling mistakes and poor grammar from the original note are included.

SCI FEM FI
Aliens - ultimate female empowerment

Men "discover" Ripley in cryo gen. Adam and Eve?

With great mistrust she helps men to fight Aliens. She gradually builds respect in male dominated environment. Turning point when face hugger is put in her bedroom. She refuses to "get pregnant". Leads to M/F contention. How will she come out of this?

GENDER EMPOWERMENT RIPLEY/ WORLD MOTHER/ HUMAN MOTHER

Effemination of Hicks after his injury. He looses his role of male protector to Ripley. He turns to drugs [he injects painkiller after he gets acid blood on his chest]. Doesn't speak for the rest of the film. MOTHER SUPERIOR.

RIPLEY VS QUEEN ALIEN - GENDER BETRAYAL. Mistrust of foreigners (aliens) indicitive of human beings?

LAYERS AND LAYERS OF DESTRUCTION. Alien>human>robot>alien. Very good theory.

So there you are: the worst piece of writing i've done for a while, and I even skipped out on a hot telepathic date for it. Idiot. SlimeCapsule is coming along marvellously by the way. Should be done in the next month!

Reality is Trivivial

2011-02-04T13:21:00.000-08:00

Trying to get my mind round making another fanzine at the moment. It's not hard: filling fanzines with middle of the road crud is the standard. At the moment I'm trying to let go of my inhibitions and write what I really think about. It's a cleasing process I think. Once I get rid of the weirdness running thru my mind maybe I can lead a normal life. Maybe when I stop fantasising about the mean spirited Chinese lady at work, maybe when I stop going to watch rom coms by myself, maybe when I stop walking for miles into the middle of nowhere by myself because I can't wait for the end of the world. These feelings come and go.

Right now I've got a whole bunch of shit being typed but it's all thoroughly MIDDLE OF THE FLIPPIN' ROAD. A couple of years ago I briefly fell in love with a girl who worked in a butchers. She stunk.

The Pork Queen

Slater Wilcox

I have worked with some total shitheads in the past, real horrid cunts. The guy in the bakery with no front teeth and a moustache who used to mutter “kinky” every time a major babe walked past in boots. Then there was the guy in the warehouse who preferred to sleep with women on their periods as it “felt better”. The guy in the pub with a penchant for the “suck it and see” t shirts. And the guy in the lorry who yelled “NICE NIPPPLES” at a 50 year old lady on a cold day in St Austell.

I trollied the 20 cases of wine round the back of the butcher's shop. The door opened to the scent of raw meat and a very attractive Irish girl. It stank, but she was beautiful. I became delirious. I imagined her black hair smelling of pork as I spanked her with a 10oz rib eye steak. If she'd have taken her clothes off, I would have eaten them. However, my nose was dripping and the guy I worked with kept insisting that I was gay; I felt like I had the charisma of a clogged toilet. Nothing happened between me and the Pork Queen.

When did your name change from a noun into a charm?

2011-02-03T11:19:00.000-08:00

Anyone seen "How do you know" the new Paul Rudd film? I did last Sunday night. Hungover and grotesque, feeling like a middle of the road rom com would be the only thing that would pull me through the grimy dullness, I decided to take the plunge and attend a slushy romantic film all on my lonesome. Sure enough the only other people there were new couples and fat, lonesome nerds who also loved Paul Rudd. It made me feel better, like I wasn't kook. The cinema is free from judgement and I find it immensely relaxing; a dark room where you can fullfil your darkest desires by watching a rom com by yourself. In watching this Paul Rudd film I finally understood why they chose to name another of his films "I love you, man." I goddamn love him, man.

I sat there soothing my dry, hungover mouth with ice cold fanta. Drinking 8.2% cider the night before had annihilated my brain and I had puked, been sick as a dog; my mind felt like a clogged gutter in Autumn, full of stinkin' brown slime. At first I couldn't get my head around what was actually happening in "How do you know". Nothing had made sense all day so how was I to understand the purest and simplest thing of them all - trashy american love [starring Paul Rudd]. The title of the movie reassured me that there was no simple answer to this fuckin' shit rom com.

It was only after 2/3 f my fanta that everything started to fall into place. That bitch [Reese Whitherspoon] loved that bitch [Paul Rudd]. Owen Wilson was there as just humorous filler, like a nervous fart in an exam; funny but distracting. Jack Nicholson shouted at Paul Rudd for a while, then Paul and Reese got on a bus, destination: Forever Love.

I left the cinema on that sub zero evening feeling like true love might exsist somewhere in this cruel world and that it wasn't just a construct of a multimillion dollar film industry made to pacify suckers for Paul Rudd. Never the less: I love you, man.

Bangers/Dirty Tactics Mordtour 2010 Titbit

2010-08-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

This is a little snippet from the 15,000 word tour diary which I've been typing up since getting back from Europe. I've been writing it on floors, in beds, at desks, hungover, starving, coffee delirious and diarhhea stricken. Yet all this is nothing in comparison to the pain of recalling this bizarre tour. It was delightful in places, but alot of the time it was weird. I'll publish the whole thing in a zine soon, but until then check out these three days for a little taster, a little mouthful of poopie for ya. Sorry it's been a while by the way, I've been far too much of a professional vagrant for a blog.

Sunday 6th June
Hertsel, Dutch Belgium (De Choke Youth Centre)

Four hour drive to this venue in the middle of fucking no where seemed to take forever. There is a slow moving Sunday vibe in the air. The venue looks like a building out of Fight Club and my drums are set up underneath a drip, we are fed cheese salad sandwiches for dinner and instinct suggests tonight will suck a damp dogdong. About four people turn up and I get pretty loose on 8% beers. After the show I try to be polite to the strangely attractive androgynous promoter girl by kissing her on the cheeky, but they don’t do the kissing thing in the Dutch part of Belgium, so it became awkward and weird. She gets flustered and asks “What is happening here?!” Loosen up lady I’m just digging on your androgynous style.

We drive to Antwerp to sleep above a metal club called DE ROT. As soon as well pull up to the venue a cute, spacey girl called Flo comes and speaks to me. Something sexual was in the air and she asked if she could come up to the metal club. Before I could get to know her better, the van had to be moved. I did this then hurried back to De Rot to find Gary had stolen Flo away from me on his never ending quest to buy weed. I walked back to the van, slept in the van, and stayed mad at Gary until jerking off in the van.

Monday 7th June
Bremen, Germany

Awoke in a damp van next to a body of water in Antwerp. Some asshole on a tuba was jamming just outside the van and some freaky bitch was cruising around the waterfront on a pennyfarthing ringing a stupid little bell. Fucking Belgians. Antwerp looked exciting last night but no time to see the place or even take a piss – off to Bremen to play on a boat. Feeling haggard and delirious. Roo sits in the back playing pokemon for the duration of the ride, “De Choke would be a pokemon which shoots rotten beer out it’s dick.” Everyone’s feeling a little grizzled from the night before. The van ride extends to six hours. A lot of this time is dedicated to lewd fictious chat about what everyone did with Flo after I went back to the van including a “Jackson Pollock” an “Abraham Lincoln” and an impressive squirt off the balcony into Roo’s mouth, 40ft below. Chris attempted to justify this talk, “I’m only saying all this about her because…it’s all true.”

80% of Bremen was destroyed in WW2, prior to this it was one of the most prosperous cities in Germany. Thru solid bombing of the place we managed to transform it into one of the most porous cities. Now it’s an industrial diarrhea mess. Opposite the boat we’re playing is the Beck’s Brewery, just up from that is the Craft Cheese factory, and off in the red sunset is the outline of the Kellogg’s cereal plant. Two people are in the crowd, no one is feeling particularly inspired to play, so we make no effort and passively suck. Stayed at a hostel paid for by the venue and a man who looks like a genie buys me a beer.

Tuesday 8th/ Wednesday 9th June
Hamburg, Germany/Oskarshamn, Sweden

Left the hostel at 8AM feeling that kind of stupid tired where you just wanna cry at being awake. Arrived in Hamburg which is the first city I’ve encountered in Europe which has that hot dust and seedy smell of kebab shops and vice in the streets. The air poisons my mind and I split away from the pack to buy a handjob off a 60 year old hooker at three in the afternoon. I liked the way she held herself, she looked homely and sexual to a degree I’ll never comprehend. The likelihood of a woman like this giving me a bucks fizzy in the “real world” was nigh on impossible. Alas, her sultry, erotic countess looks placed her far out of my bracket, so I left her in her window to finish reading her copy of Good Homes magazine. As I walked out of the red light district I bumped into the drummer of Pantera who was taking pictures of the outside of the hooker alley. It added to that surreal feeling of having gone up to a woman and asking “How much for a handjob?” Whilst making a wanking gesture. I felt like a real tool for about 2 hours after this.

Morale is low today and the thought of driving 12 hours to Sweden straight after the show makes it hard to enjoy tonight. No one comes to the show again, so that’s three in a row. I don’t wanna go home, but I would like to feel that what I’m doing is worth something to someone. Feeling bleak and despairing. 10pm, two people there – the show gets cancelled so we bail to Sweden. The venue is sympathetic and pays us 100 euros and gives everyone all the sauce they can drink. I sit in the van and wait to leave. It starts to pour down with rain. Carlin comes up to the van with vomit on his face; I refuse to let him in till he’s wiped it off. He doesn’t seem to care. We have a stockpile of whiskey, beers, and energy drinks to get us to Sweden. Everyone is loose and splashy. At the first services everyone needs to pee, but go thru the wrong door. An angry Indian man shouts at Chris, and then leads him down a back alley. I watched, intrigued as to what was happening. The man unlocks the door and enters; Chris holds back, shuts the doors and pisses all over it. What?

Overnight delirium drive up out of Germany, thru Denmark across 25 mile long bridges spanning vast grey stretches of water and across barren Sweden in the pale and milky early morning light. We get pulled over at the Malmo border. We look disheveled and insane. The van smells like pee, Gary’s asleep on the shelf, and there is booze all over the place. We try and hold it together.

“How many of you are there in the van?”

“Seven.”

“Seven? So why is there 120 empty beer bottles on the floor?!”

Drove another four hard hours along one straight road which is flanked on both sides by chilly looking lakes, desolate pine forests, and moose crossing signs. Bored and out of my mind tired, I stayed up the whole drive to keep Andrew, then Roo company whilst they drove. Arrived at Kalle’s house, drank a beer, and passed out. For some reason almost everyone in our troupe experiences sexy/aggressive dreams during the four hour nap before the show. Oskarshamn is in the middle of fucking nowhere, like most places in Sweden it takes hours to get between towns. Maybe this Scandinavian isolation would go someway to explaining the local girls nose for new blood. We go back to this guy’s house after the show and roll some of the most highly prized figures of Western sexual commerce - SWEDISH GIRLS. I met a cute blonde girl (of course) who smelt like wood and chewing tobacco. We chatted casually whilst she gradually backed me into a corner. Sensing I was an awkward nerd, she moved onto someone else. I met another one who was like a beautiful wild animal – spitting, burping, and crushing cans into her delicate forehead. We moved onto a bar and whilst I whittled the hours away talking to two boring dorks from a nuclear power plant, one of our party received footsy banana massage from Chewing Tobacco underneath the table. Back at the house I stood on the balcony looking out towards Finland feeling strange that we were in the artic circle, and we’ve still yet to go to Eastern Europe and the Balkans.

In the next part of the tour diary we encounter a Polish toilet so
damned vile that the stench of it broke my camera!

Just pour it out nice and easy, like you were talking to a friend.

2010-02-13T13:11:00.001-08:00

This'll be my second saturday in a row when I haven't been out and been liberally social. Rather than watch reruns of come dine with me with my dad I decided to make some books. So I checked out DIY binding, bought the shit to do it, printed off issues 7, 8, and 9, bought 10 beers, got home, put on Piebald and got to it. There's only been 5 made cuz they take ages to make and I was unsure of how they'd turn out, but I like 'em and I'll try to make more. Plus, making books at home makes me feel better about being drunk with my parents at home on a saturday night.

Wild Turkey, Shitty Job

2010-02-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

So recently I have started working again after a year. Kourvka. Everyone exeperiences "shitty job". It can kill. Issue 10 will have a collection off the shittest jobs my friends and I have worked. Today my spirit was broken by a haddock that didn't conform to packing weight. But enough about me. As of tomorrow issue 9 will be ready for action. It's text heavy and full of disillusionment, but hey, at least it's something to read. Fucking art zines. Last night I paid £2 for a bunch of photocopied pictures. No point. Anyway, Here's a very old Lucida console page from 2003. i'd like to write more write now but drinking wild turkey bourbon after a 55 hour week blah blah....my shit sux. Paypal orders will be accepted when the working week wild turkey has stopped kickin my ass.

Scott Mills' Undeflatable Ego

2010-01-18T13:59:00.000-08:00

Hey there jizzwizard. The new issue of Lucida Console has been shelved for a couple of weeks whilst the usage of the 1st person tense gets edited down. Whilst working in a fish factory today and listening to radio 1 there was a moment of realisation when hearing Scott Mills' constantly say "I think that", "I did this", and "I've got a large and peculiar ego but a very small and frail mind" that I thought, hey buddy you're neither as funny as you think you are, nor as interesting. So, the usage of "I" is being somewhat reduced throughout the zine because nobody likes a person that can suck their own dick: ultimtaely issue nine won't be out cuz of Scott Mills. Plus, my fingers really stink of fish, and typing only helps to circulate the smell. Anyhow, here's the cover. Think about other people more often.

hammer and sickle cell anemia

2010-01-05T04:39:00.000-08:00

Well I figure why not post up two pieces of rot in one day eh? And what a day! This snow is rad, it has somehow made it ok to sit here and type crap that nobody cares about and not feel bad about it. Here's an old page of titbits and book reviews from issue 5. It's a prime example of rotten batshit genre literature which will survive everybody's post-NYE awkwardness. Peace on Middle Earth. SW X

Everything shits until it dies.

2010-01-05T03:48:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I hope everything isn't fucking shit for you and you're feeling positively non-suicidal. New Year's Eve I was in bed by 11:15pm with a severe case of misery guts, not even fine rum could save me and lord knows I tried to get enough of it down my neck before the darkness took hold of my mind.

The reason I haven't posted since November is because I have been working on issue 9 and I don't want to waste any of the "gold" I've been producing on a shitty blog. I wrote a period drama about a stuck up redheaded girl who works in Morris' pasty shop in Falmouth which is pretty much the least interesting thing ever produced. Yes, life has become dull and the only thing keeping me from complete disillusionment in 2010 is Piers Anthony, an American sci fi writer who writes bizarre fantasy books with titles like "Alien Plot" "Cthon" and "Knot Gneiss". In this fantasy world I have immersed myself in everything is exciting and vaguely sexy. There are loads of stories about people quiting real life and joining communities possesing REAL MAGIC and it sounds pretty cool to be honest. I'm still in exactly the same situation I was when I was 15 years old and I hate it. Long live fantasy. I'll post something up again when issue 9 is nearly done. Not long now hopefully. Smell ya later. SW

Flowerpower, bitch

2009-11-25T08:27:00.000-08:00

After two interviews I think it's time for something a little bit different. Hazabouzomolcrap? Here's the booze review from issue five. The whole issue reminds me of my friend's staffordshire bull terrier Albert, who he says he has "ruined" thru being too emotional. He told me that Albert lives in a cupboard and cries a lot with a boner, because too much death cab as a youngster has rendered him mentally impaired. For a while back in 2005 I was Albert. I had a completely irrational crush on this Asian girl who I barely ever spoke to but I was convinced we were "almost a couple". It was horrible, and the whole of issue 5 has some traces of this emotionally turbulent time. The beer review reflects my eventual conquering of this unattainable babe thru a new friend in booze. So what else is going down in my little computer cave at the foot hills of Mount Doom? I'm working on issue nine pretty slowly, but I'm using my new found computer skills to create some pretty sweet headers. For example this dragon shooting out flamin' hot diarrhea which will be crowning the music reviews.
Up to this point the actual typen werd of the isuue is of average quality, but I really wanna put out another zine before the end of the year so I'm gonna bust it Righteous Jams style. Plus I'm starting to feel thick, and nothing kills confidence faster than thinking that you're not as good as you used to be. Thankfully I never was much good so it won't be too hard to make a mediocre zine. Peace on Middle Earth.

Live to Thrash, Thrash to Live - ssssnakes/Arteries interview

2009-11-18T03:32:00.000-08:00

Hopefully by now you will have fully digested the words from The Cut Ups interview and are ready for desserts. What better than a delicious little conversation with the sweet and sassy Jamie Morrison of sssssnakes and The Arteries? Recorded at Punk n' Bowl in Bloomsbury where booze flows freely, lots of the finest punk rock bands fill the air with headbangable vibes, and dangerously heavy bowling balls are tossed with reckless abandon. PUNK N' BOWL 3, DECEMBER 20TH AAARGH!

If you had to choose between your job and your band which would it be?

I don’t have a job. Next question.

What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for a person?

It’s probably for Lotty. Once when we played in a really shit place I bought her some flowers at a Tesco, and we bought whipped cream too, but we used all the whipped cream on ourselves and then I gave her the flowers when I smelt of stale whipped cream.

Uhm, what’s a good question to ask someone in the Arteries?

I don’t know, you’re the interviewer dickhead.

But I have nothing to say to you.

Come on pull this together, live a little. Dig deep. Hey why don’t you ask me about The Ergs? What kind of influences do you have? The Ergs. What kind of bands do you wanna be like? The Ergs.

Fuck, sorry. Are you gonna go all Henry Rollins on this interview?

Hey punk, you want something about the punk scene? Start your own scene man! You got something to say? No? Well I got something to say! I’m gonna say all this… has your girlfriend ever done something that makes you not sexually attracted to her? Because mine has, haha.

How many times do you get mistaken for the Ataris? You’re definitely more attractive than Kris Roe.

Thanks. I appreciate that because you know, I do pride myself on my looks and my looks only.

I all of a sudden feel like a might be able to speak some more now. Are you bringing back the 90’s punk rock scene with the Arteries?

No! Everyone says we are. It’s shit, what the hell?! Have you ever listened to us? We’re more metal than your mother!

Fair play my bird.

We’re bringing back rock n’ roll we’re not bringing back anything 90’s. We’re bringing back the 80’s. We’re bringing back the 60’s! Have you ever seen Spikers 3D? That’s what we’re all about.

I haven’t, I have no idea what Spikers 3D is. Final Arteries question!

Ask something about Ssssnakes, we’ll come back to the Arteries. Ok, ssssnakes interview - GO! Then we’ll go back to the Arteries.

Is ssssnakes more of an emo band than punk rock?

Emotional. We sing about ferret shows.

Are ssssnakes role models in punk rock?

I mean ssssnakes are role models, yeah, definitely role models just in life you know?

How do you feel you convey a good message to the kids of today?

Well one of the lines in a song goes, “don’t do drugs, stay in school, it’s cool.” so like that I guess.

If you saw someone snorting coke of a descendents album cover, what would you do?

That reminds me of a time when we were on tour with Bangers and this guy after the show was snorting coke off of Sommery and I said “Hey! Have you heard that descendents song Good Clean Fun, it’s all about not doing drugs and kickin’ ass.” It also says lets take the drugs out of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll and I agree.

Who in your opinion is the most attractive member of the Arteries?

Oh, back to the Arteries. But definitely Rhys Jenkins. DEFINITELY Rhys Jenkins without a doubt. He’s so hot right now.

What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever played?

Once we played up in the North East England and it turned out to be a wedding party and I think their mate had booked it or something, so all of a sudden we’re ruining someone’s wedding party and there was about 25 people just sitting down not enjoying it. We had a blast, even though it was weird.

Ssssnakes or Arteries?

Ssssnakes till death!

Um, who has the best hair in Arteries?

Miles obviously. Although I’m growing a mullet right now. Yeah, I’m growing a euro mullet. Why did you choose to do this interview in the only windy place in the venue?

My judgment is all boozy! This interview is going to be a split with the Cut Ups, how do you feel about that?

Sounds great! We’re doing a split 7” why not an interview too? That’s the way I feel.

When uh, I have nothing to say.

Come on.

Ok, what’s this about a split with the Cut Ups?

Well, I’m glad you asked. We apparently doing a split with the high and mighty Cut Ups. Recorded this summer released this September.

Do the Arteries advocate smoking weed?

What? Yeah, but I’m pretty sure the Cut Ups don’t.

I’ve been spreading the rumour that the album The High and Mighty” is all about smoking weed.

Not in Jon Shoe’s eyes. Maybe in Reza’s though. I think the thing with the word high is that it’s a metaphor, and you can read into it what you will.

What would your interpretation of the high and mighty be?

I think positivity and being proud within your scene.

Jamie, you’re a notorious…molester, no, party animal, do you have a memorable tour moments?

All my good stories involve Pugs. Pugs, I mean he parties like no one else. There’s been times when he’s been butt naked and I’ve been power washing him with a fire extinguisher, you know right in there, right up deep.

I heard the other night he refused to pee until someone had peed in his butt.

Yeah, that’s happened. I wasn’t there that night, but I’ll vouch for that being the truth. There’s too many stories involving Pugs, you all know him, you all know the stories. I don’t need to say them into a dictaphone, they just go unsaid.

Have you heard any shitty reviews of Blood, Sweat, and Steers?

Not so much shitty as inaccurate. There’s many a review that says if you like Lagwagon you’ll love the Arteries. I mean maybe we dress like Lagwagon, but we don’t sound like them.

I think you look more Swedish.

Thanks, well I don’t know if I mean thanks, just whatever. But yeah, not dogshit reviews just inaccurate 90’s Fat Wreck references which I don’t think are necessarily true, I mean we’re heavier than that. Yeah, we’re no Manowar, but we live for AC DC and Thin Lizzy; we’re a guitar band.

Hey, I wanna know more about The Arteries. What’s the dope on The Arteries? I mean, what’s the deal with The Arteries?

What kind of a question is that?

It’s an open question. So you can run free with your answer.

Come on, I can’t answer that. What’s the dope on the Arteries? I think you’ve got enough for a zine page here.

I need one more good question! Is there any sexual tension between members of The Arteries?

Yes! There’s lot of sexual tension between two band members – Rhys Jenkins and Timothy Sudbry Those two are gay for each other. They even admit it.

Does it come out in any of your songs?

It comes out in the van a lot when they’re asleep on each others shoulders. Every camera we’ve ever taken on tour comes back full of pictures of them hugging. You know, they don’t only harmonise together, they sleep together. They live in harmony. But Tim’s got a girlfriend – a spanner in the works if you will.

I wanna get topical - Can you connect to what Miles sings about?

Yeah sure, just every day stuff – girls, parents, bands that suck, bands that rule.

How does that relate to anyone over like 15?

Well I think I’ve grown out of that kind of 90’s Fat Wreck scene, but it still relates to me. We don’t write for other people to relate to, but if they can then kick ass. But we write it because that’s what he wants to sing about, or what I wanna sing about, or what we all wanna sing about. If people can relate to that, cool, but if they can’t, we don’t care.

Jamie you’ve been a pleasure to talk to.

You’ve been a pleasure to talk to. You’ve been the best interviewer ever. THANK YOU. Don’t tread on us!

* There's a link for Specialist Subject Records in the side bar on the right of this. Order The Cut Ups/Arteries spilt 7" from there! My friend Andrew has just started his own distro and needs the help. Plenty of other good records for sale too, 'ave a little browse my birds.

The Cut Ups Interview. Sorta out there.

2009-11-10T02:52:00.000-08:00

The mysterious Cornish liquor had made my brain loose and untrustworthy. Was Jon Curtis, foreskin of The Cut Ups really spilling the beans on their rad band, or was he being really boring and reserved. I just couldn't tell. I could barely see straight. In hindsight, it was me being the boring shithead and Jon was being interesting and very tolerant! Who woulda thought it?! Obviously I have edited this in my favour so I look quick witted and cool like all those sexy art students you see walking around your town in those strange clothes that can't be bought in shops. Jon, Ted, Jack, and Reza are in The Cut Ups, they're down to earth punk rock, with deep lyrics which can be interpretted however you want, but essentially boil down to a love of a small town in Mid Devon. Check out their split with the Arteries. "Torches" is a rabble rouser. To celebrate this split a month or two too late, I've got interviews from both bands (and ssssnakes!) which I conducted back in May on the Virgins tour. I was drunk and I apologise to Jon for being a cunt. The Arteries interview will follow soon! (Or I might offer it to my friend who has started a magazine in Cornwall. My profile in my home county needs to be raised so I can get the fuck out of this boner graveyard and start hanging out with lotsa fuckable little grungettes like I rightly deserve. Priorities!)

THE CUT UPS: PUNK ROCK MARRIAGE GUIDANCE.

Name and true age?

Jon Curtis, 26

Yeah right and the rest. And Ted?

James Reynolds, 29.

Ted?

Or…Ted, 29.

From The Cut Ups?

Yes, The Cut Ups. We have to be careful when saying the name of our band. I’m prone to saying “the cuhups” People think we’re called The Carps. Honestly, our friend Aaron thought we were The Carps for about three months.

Basically, how many odes to mid Devon do you think you have left in you?

I’m always torn between calling my home town mid or East Devon. I have currently conducted, officially, two odes to my hometown of Collumpton. You will know these songs as “I may be a mong from collumpton, but at least I ain’t a Cully-mong” and “The further I get from Collumpton the more my powers decrease”. Both good songs, however in the Cut Ups ALL songs are informed by my hometown Collumpton. But in answer to your question, I reckon this band has two more records.

Ted: Then we’ll have to move to Dorset.

Or something will have to happen in Collumpton, like a Civil War or racism. Sorry, even more racism.

Aside from Jon Shoe and the Fascists eh?

Jon Shoe and the Fascist Regime was the name of my solo project.

When hometown pride goes wrong.

Yeah, that’s right. Check ‘em out on myspace. Do you know Ted’s also from Mid Devon? South Molton. It’s as crappy as Collumpton.

What’s the PUNK SCENE like in South Molton?

Ted: Non-existent. It probably was just me and then I moved to Exeter. Now the Exeter punk scene has grown by…doubled the amount of punk people.

I’d like to ask specifically about the Exeter punk scene. There’s a lot of people you see about who have that “Exeter look”. Tight jeans, denim jacket, hood out the back. What’s your views on the current scene?

Ted: Well as for style I guess we don’t really fit in. We all wear large trousers.

I remember listening to Pennywise…

Was that yesterday or something?

Actually it was! Infact, I was listening to Bro Hymn. They were playing it in the club yesterday and I was singing along. I think that the Exeter punk scene look comes from one man… his name is Nicholas Heron (of The Computers). He’s a good looking man, he’s got slim legs, a trim backside, high cheek bones and a firm sense of what looks good. He thought it was a good look to wear denim jackets and it caught on. He also has a sailor hat, which didn’t catch on unfortunately. We as The Cut Ups have nothing to do with that look, although we don’t disapprove of it perse, we wouldn’t do it ourselves. Frankly, the problem is big arses. Too fat. Also Reza has a lot of hair and I don’t think it would look right.

Ted: We have a lot of hair in the band. Jack’s quite hairy, I’ve got a lot of bodily hair, but Jon…I think he’s totally bald.

Can I confirm I’m not totally bald. I have some hair. Where? There on the stair.

You mean on your crab ladder?

No, no come on let’s not be vulgar. Basically in Exeter I think there’s a strange crossover between, indie, electro kids, and punk kids. And people who were into The Computers early on were a mixture of indie kids and punk kids and they got into this look. Only like five people, but you know what kids are like, they see one guy and just go for it. But it’s funny, I’ve seen it spreading.

Ted: Alex (singer of The Computers) was in on the tight trouser game early on. I’ve seen those Best of Enemies promo shots. But they were no role models for any man.

Jon Curtis, the man who knows exactly what to say at the right moment, any moment can you explain the song “I Asked the Wrong Question” off your new album because I don’t believe there was anyway you could of asked the wrong question.

When we started The Cut Ups, if I’m honest the reason for starting was A: the last band I was in had stopped doing stuff and B: my friend Adam Searle (first Cut Ups bassist) really wanted to be in a band. So asked him “Shall we do a band?” So we did do that band and that’s now The Cut Ups. So we asked Rez to drum, but we didn’t really know him, Adam knew his twin sister.

Does she have a monobrow too?

No, they don’t really have any similarities at all, just hair colour. Rosie’s a very good looking young lady. So… anyway we asked Rez to do the band. So we started a band, the question was “will you be in the band with us?” The song “I Asked the Wrong Question” was specifically about Adam Searle because…

It better be interesting.

I know, it’s a long answer.

Did I ask the wrong question?

Yeah pretty much. No, instead of asking “Shall we be in a band?” I should have asked “Should we basically start this new life together?” It changed so much that we done before, and we were practically…

Ted: Married.

As much as a plutonic male relationship can be. Married. And we supported each other through a lot of difficult stuff.

Hetrosexual life brothers.

So when he left the band recently to move to Brighton it was a really hard thing to cope with, I really miss him. A real strong personality, such an influence on me and my life. I’m kind of at a loss when I remember he’s not around. So that’s what it is, “I Asked the Wrong Question.” Does that make sense?

Well kind of, I guess.

Explain why it doesn’t make sense then.

We’ll come back to that, I’ll find a new question.

Alright. Cheers.

Is your new album title a reference to smoking weed?
No. I do not smoke marijuana, nor have smoked anything infact.

Smoked a cock?

No.

Sorry, that was quite a crass question. I’ve been drinking.

Ted: Smoked any fools?

No, nor have I ever shot anyone. The high and mighty, it’s nothing to do with drugs, it’s nothing to do with God specifically, it’s nothing to do with the people we might consider in our society to be high and mighty. Everything’s quite confused these days, like in the 1920’s the high and mighty might have been the king or the lords and ladies, and maybe perhaps politicians. Nowadays the high and mighty might be seen by lots of people as the Beckhams, or Jade Goody, you know literally people who think like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have something to say about life and what it means. So the high and mighty the record is specifically about people who have influenced me in my life. There’s no politician alive today that I think has been a role model to me, the aim was with those eleven songs was to make them about eleven role models to me, who I consider my high and mighty. Some of them smoke weed, but that’s not why they’re my heros. Dave the Growler [who is the subject of The King of Exwick] that man is extremely annoying, in the extreme, but I love him, and he’s taught me a lot not always on purpose sometimes…….I find it hard to cope with how the world is prepared for one sort of person an generally they are white, male, and educated and when people come along who don’t fit into that category they find it really hard. Growler is a lazy clown at best, but! He wants something and he can’t get it and I don’t necessarily think that’s his fault.
…Pause…
Am I being a poor interviewee?

No, I just always believed you had something to say…….and you do.

Good.

Would The Cut Ups play weddings?

Yeah, we’re playing Ted’s sister’s wedding next summer Noestone village hall. We’re playing Tom Petty songs and others.

Ok, there’s a lot of kids in the PUNK ROCK SCENE who I feel don’t know that much about getting married. How did you propose? What’s The Cut Ups technique?

My current wife, my former girlfriend Beth Hamilton, now Curtis, we went to Branscombe beach in Sidmouth where my Gran and Granddad always took me. This place had become special to us and we went there quite a lot, and we’d often talked about it and we’d never had much money, so we went and bought fish and chips. Sidmouth’s an old folk’s town in Devon and everything closes at about half past three in the afternoon, so I said to myself “if we manage to get fish and chips on that day, then that was the sign that I should definitely propose to her.” But for unknown reasons we were late, but the shop was open longer than it should have been. So we had fish and chips, well I don’t eat fish I’m a vegetarian I had a mushy pea fritter and chips. Beth had cod and chips, she’s a pescatarian. Then we drove to Branscombe beach, sat down, it was this kind of twilight scene, I lit a fire, we ate our chips, my mushy pea fritter, which was excellent. I got down on two knees, because I had bad knees at the time…

That’s a groveling way to propose, “Pleeease marry me!”

I knew my place you see. And I proposed to Miss Beth Hamilton and she agreed. This was September 3rd 2007, we got married 11th April 2008 in St Andrew’s Church Collumpton. Witnessed by many well wishers and some jealous people.

Jealous? Is your wife uh, hot?

There was a boy she used to go out with there. He had a yellow convertible. He still has that yellow convertible, but not my wife. She’s mine, hands off.

Ok, but the question was, any tips? [nope, it wasn’t!]

Yes! Don’t go mental. We’re punks, the world is impoverished enough. My friend took out a £3000 loan to get an engagement ring for his girlfriend. Don’t do that, that’s ridiculous. I didn’t have a ring, nor could I afford one.

Did you go down Argos?

No, we got a nice ring and it wasn’t extravagant.

An onion ring?

I offered her the choice of an onion ring or a beef hula hoop. No, another tip – choose who you’re asking wisely. If you choose the wrong person you could wind up in a right old pickle.

Right let’s get back to The Cut Ups.

Please!

The Cut Ups – punk rock you can believe in?

Sure. I see us more as radio rock these days, that’s only because I like radio rock more than I like punk rock.

Do you feel The Cut Ups could be considered as role models?

Oh crikey, I hope not. In towns like Exeter people who go on about liking punk rock all the time either give up a week later and go down to the nearest nightclub, or move away to London or Bristol. Simply by chance I’ve been the longest standing, and I have a big mouth. My first show was The Bluetones at Exeter Lemon Grove when I was 12 years old. It was rubbish. My first punk rock show was either jets to Brazil or Samiam. UK bands I guess would have been Symposium and A, so I have just of stuck with it. But I’d be worried if people were to think of us as role models.

Do you think people can relate to the Mid Devon scene?

The thing about punk rock and the reason I never got into, say The Bluetones style music is that anyone can do it. The reason I sing about Exeter so much is that it’s a crap town, in a crap part of the world, and I’m a crap person from it. If you take that scale then there’s no reason that I could ever be Eddie van Halen, but I do like the way I can be in a punk rock band. So the aim is I suppose to show people that anyone can do anything, you just gotta put some elbow grease in there, and if people can learn that from us it’d be amazing. I mean we’re just four chumps from round about and we have a good time. I’m sure you’ve sometimes wondered if those massive drives to play to 10 people are really worth it and of course it’s worth it, it’s not about what other people think it’s about what you yourself feel about it, and punk rock for me and The Cut Ups for me is about doing something that I enjoy and that I feel is worthwhile. I suppose.

Is Rory Matthews the new Jon Curtis?

Yes. Rory will bury us all, and I welcome that. Rory Matthews plays solo folk stuff in Some Sort of Threat, he’s in a band too called The False Arrests which I think are even better than Some Sort of Threat. Their drummer is called Luke Ellis and I value him very highly as a human being. Rory will go far, and he’s got something that we’ve always lacked, and that’s talent.

Oh, and youth is on his side.

Yes, I once had youth. It’s now a distant memory, as is hair. Rory how hairy are you?

Rory: Pretty hairy.

Ted: See, he’s got it all going for him.

I’m going to speak to you Ted, I think we’ve heard enough of Jon.

Ted: You need to speak to Jack, he has a degree in world cinema. It taught him how to be an excellent lover.

Jon: Jack could tell you why you should watch Amelie, which is basically what he learnt at university.

Jon, you have a notoriously sweet job as a RE teacher, Cut Ups or your sweet job?

I wouldn’t want to be in a band all the time. It’s boring, I only like it because it’s a fun thing to do.

Eh, I can’t hear you?

I said, I’d rather have a just job.

2009-10-19T05:45:00.000-07:00

Since I no longer care for the real world I have created a short list of sci fi women who I think should be promoted to a less fictional status.

1. Dr Ellie Sattler in classic Paelobotanist outfit in Jurassic Park.

2. Trinity in her normal Zion clothes, not that goth shit of The Matrix.

I also discovered a Dr Ellie lookalike in Plymouth who I will soon start a quest for. I served her drinks on friday night and tried to keep my cool infront of ultimate dream girl. She wasn't wearing denim shorts, boots, shirt and a neckerchief but she was still a total babe.

At my other job on Friday I also spent alot of time reading a fantasy novel called A Spell for Chameleon. It freaked me out so much that I could barely concentrate on answering the phone to stupid art fags asking about the latest French films. Everytime one of them interrupted me I tried to banish them with some powerful magic. I have given up trying to read respectable books. Give me a story about magicians and unicorns anyday, especially sexy ones like the Xanth series. The guy gets a handjob off some mermaids whilst escaping an underwater cave.

Top 5 Xanth titles:

1. Question Quest

2. Faun and Games

3. Zombie Lover

4.Crewel Lye

5.The Dastard

Glass and Ashes Interview

2009-10-08T13:44:00.000-07:00

Just over a year ago not only was I a semi employed fuck up, I was a SEFU who enjoyed drugs. No more I tells ya.The problem with "feel good drugs" is that after a while people find themselves unable to have fun without them which is pretty lame. Thankfully I started realising how magnificent booze can be, as well as riding my bike whilst talking to myself. I don't feel an inclination to do drugs again, as I'm not a fan of the ROARING HELL feeling of the next day, but here's an interview from issue 8 Lucida Console with Glass and Ashes which suffers a somewhat scrambled start thanks to a scrambled brain. In other news check out Glass and Ashes new band LoveBird www.myspace.com/lovebirdusa I think the link is broken. Sorry.

Glass and Ashes Interview

Chicken…gravy. Mushroom…gravy.

Your name and what do you do in Glass and Ashes?

You’re recording right now?

Yeah.

My name is Josh I play guitar and sing back up. That’s what I do do.

What’s your favorite beer?

It depends. Am I on a budget or do I have a lot of money to spend? Because if I have a lot of money to spend I’ll buy Stella or Newcastle. But if I’m on a budget I’ll buy Pabst Blue Ribbon.

What do you think of Michelob Ultra?

I think its total crap. Michelob and Miller I can’t drink. And Coors I can’t drink… [Cut in the tape]…where are you on the tape?

I wouldn’t worry about it, the side I’m recording over is Terror.

Are you recording over our interview?

No, no no. [I was.]

No, we’re continuing the recording right now. You’re could do the whole zine on this interview. You’re going to have fucking hours. [Cut]

[Resumed with singer and bassist Mike Carter, I don’t know what the question was because I started the tape after I’d asked it]

When we did the record my Father passed away, a lot of relationships kinda died, all of our friends moved away. It’s kind of like the death of hope. Uh, there’s so many different aspects of life so it’s [the new record] a lot to do with acceptance, realizing a lot things. It’s not a downer, like death and dying, just the realization of things.

Yeah, you were saying something about that on stage I think, like taking something you care for and really going for it.

Well yeah…it’s really easy to get involved with people kind of shitting on you, uh putting yourself up against a wall and if you have one fragment of something that excites you or that you love then you have to grab hold of it, if it’s the only thing you have. If it’s your friends, family, or something like music or art. Huh, what’s that?

I love that guy a lot [pointing at a friend]. Fuck this man, he inspires me.

I think you should tell him that right now.

No, I’ve already told him a lot of times tonight.

OK.

[Cut away again to the actual interview with guitarist Jesse Jenny and drummer Armand Anthony]

Ok, question number three! There’ll be deeper questions.

J: Oh yeah, we’re just getting serious. Let’s get deep.

Ventura County is notorious for stoners…

J: I thought it was more speed freaks?

Oh, well when I went there…

J: You got stoned?

Uh, no I didn’t. But the guy I stayed with must have thrown about a pound of weed at my head and said “Have you ever seen so much weed?!”

A: You should give me his number man. We live there and we don’t see that!

Well, for me Simi Valley and Ventura is notorious for stoners, yet you make music that sounds like a stoner’s worst nightmare, what’s up with that?

J: Yeah, I mean I smoke here and there and we have a lot of friends who are big stoners. Actually where I live, we live in the cheapest of an expensive area, basically a very small neighborhood with about 20 friends on the same street, and a couple of the bands…Ox vs. Thunderbird, The Fucking Wrath…heavy, amazing Sabbath influenced stoner rock. They’re big stoners, watch out for them. I mean, even stoners play crazy music. I guess we’re functional stoners, we don’t slow down. The Ritalin effect you know, if you don’t need it, it makes you fuckin’ crazy! I don’t know.

Do you guys skate at all?

J: I skated for 8 years and I haven’t skated for 8 years. I’d rather keep this hand for guitar instead, broken
wrist, broken thumbs, ouch!
A: No good for rock riffage.
J: Bad ankles now. I can’t skate, I shouldn’t skate, I shan’t skate!

If you going to say that, you might as well lay off jerkin off as well.

J: I like to jerk off too. It’s very fun. But I’m working shit out there, I’m not breaking it. I’m limber.

Have you ever been with a valley girl?

A: [Nods] Hmm.
J: Yes. I think the first one I had fun with when I moved to Southern California might have been. I mean she was like “Ok, its cool! Everything’s… yah alright!”

Just like the Frank Zappa song. Hey Armand, you look like Frank Zappa!

A: That’s the fifth time I’ve had that.
J: He’s getting the Zap-man everytime!
A: Ringo, fuckin…Derek Smalls from Spinal Tap. The ‘Tap! One of my main influences.

So did you loose your virginity to a valley girl?

J: No.

No? Ok. This leads us on to the next question: what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for a girl?

J: Well I had a girlfriend once for a really short time before Valentines Day, so I didn’t know whether to get super romantic and buy roses because the colour of the rose means a lot. Red rose is love, yellow roses are more friendship, so what I did because it was only a couple of months in…because I figured girls like chocolate; I went to 7 Eleven and bought a bunch of chocolate bars and two bottles of champagne and surprised her at her apartment because I figured that was a romantic thing to do for a girl that I haven’t known that long but was feeling really good about.

Did it work out?

J: Yes, it did. But I got really wasted and I don’t know…it did work out good, things are fine.

Things are still fine?!

J: Yeah, same girl.

Jesus!

A: Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I gave up on romance.

I can tell by your moustache.

A: Shots of whiskey is my romance. If you come and get pissed with me, then you’re in. Let’s go! That’s it.

If you ever did skate, which you did…

Favorite skateboarder?!

Ok, yeah favorite skateboarder? Let’s go with that.

John Cardiel.

Shame he broke his back.

Yeah, it’s a shame he broke his back, but its good thing he’s still skating. He’s the gnarliest skateboarder I’ve ever skated with, and seen skate.

You skated with John Cardiel?!

I’m from Northern California. I grew up skating with John Cardiel, Chris Senn, Phil shao. It’s small up there, you go skate in a park and you end up skating with the Cards.

Do you know the skate park in Ventura called Skate Street?

J: I worked there.

Did you work there when New Found Glory filmed their video in the bottom of the half pipe?

J: Oh shit, I don’t think so. Well they changed two different locations. When I worked there a lot of kids were
saying [puts on a really camp teenager pussy voice] “Oh, this isn’t the fuckin’ skate park they played in!”
A: We played there before. I don’t care man. They started doing shows there, and they set up bands in the
half pipe.
J: We played at the top of that wedge ramp that was way high!
A: There were kids jumping off the ramp and sliding into the pit, like bowling.
J: The first Skate Street was a rad venue too. Like play on the vert ramp, play on the other ramp, a full blown
venue. A lot of good bands, it was cool.
A: It closed down recently. What happened was the original guy who started it died a few years back, and then after he died the people who took it over ended up cutting the skate park in half and building a big ass venue. And had this small skate park and this rad venue which was one of the best venues from LA to Santa Barbara.
J: The problem though is that there’s a lot of religion involved in the place. They didn’t give a fuck about you, they didn’t give you a raise, paid you minimum wage. It was a second job for no money.

You mentioned Santa Barbara, are you into Lagwagon?

J: I liked them when I was in High School. There’s not a lot of music I grew out of, a lot of the music I was into then like Samiam and Jawbreaker...

You like Jets to Brazil?

J: Of course. No. Well some. I like that song which goes bu-nuh-ne-ne-bu-nuh-ne-ne-bu-nuh-ne-ne-bu-nuh-ne-ne.

Morning New Disease! This was going to be my last question, but I feel there will be more, and because you’re from America; Apple pie or fake tits?

Both: Apple pie. Easy.
J: Wait is that some European slang, apple pie?

No, just a simple question, simple answer. Moving on, have you ever been in a street gang?

J: I wish. I wanna be a Crip!
A: No, well sort of. It’s kind of world wide actually. The Stingrays, you won’t know unless you’re in. We get drunk basically. There’s initiations, but I can’t tell you because it’s top secret, but you’ll know! It’s like the Mafia.
J: He’s half Italian half Greek.

Woah! What a great combo! Does this mean you get the chicks?!

A: I don’t know. Where are they?
J: He drags his net deep and long, but sometimes it doesn’t snag.

Who is the most attractive band on No Idea?

J: Let me think about this one gosh, are you meaning former bands or…? Either way it’s not helping me right now. How about the most attractive band - Planes Mistaken for Stars for their sex factor, second North Lincoln, Brian Beckwith is the teddy bear who I think is a fuckin’ hot motherfucker, Kevin and John I forget their last names.

All these bands appeal to people who are into rugged looking guys.

J: Yeah, thuggish ruggish! Chuck Ragan is still a construction worker, he’s a big guy. He’s burly.

Is having a beard a prerequisite of being on No Idea?

J: Basically to get signed to have to have at least two inches of growth on you, which I don’t think anyone has at the moment. But once you’re on, you’re on, and you can shave all you want. Beards not bombs.

I know you’re from Ventura, but have you ever been to Venice beach?

J: Skating?
A: I smoked a bong there.

No, I mean Muscle Beach!

J: They wouldn’t let me in! I wanna go in, and I think they have good tank tops and sunglasses there. But, I think I’m buff, I mean I’m totally ripped but I guess the muscles aren’t big enough. Last time I was there, there were women who were buffer than three times my size, and their butt cheeks would probably break my face. No I can’t do it man, we’re not allowed there.
[There was some wild talk of tough guys here which led to this from Jesse]
All I gotta say though is the new Rambo is an amazing movie. One of our funnest night’s on tour, even though it was so mellow and we had been partying so hard every night, we had a night with just really good homemade wine and homemade plum schnapps in Friedberg Germany with this great guy called Christophe. Smoked a bunch of hash, drank a bunch of homemade wine, watched the new Rambo, followed by the new Rocky, and ended with Planet Terror and we all slept great that night. It’s got to the point where we could do with another one of them.

[At this point I handed the Dictaphone to Roo whilst Armand and I discussed booze, girls, and Skate Street skate park. All that followed was some rubbish about the Rambo films. The interview picks up again with Roo’s most worthwhile question.]

Have steroids ever been attractive to you?

J: Uh, well I take the ‘roids, they’re just not kicking in yet.
A: There’s been a lot of lifting up of glasses.
J: Hey, have you ever seen mountains move? [Flexes muscles]

Come on guy, I interviewed Terror.

J: Are they buff?

The singer Scott Vogel can bench press 300 pounds!

A: By the time this tour has ended I may have drank 300 pints...
J: We might spend about 300 pounds…tonight. We party too much, not enough time to work out, we’re working out our livers. We’re on No Idea man, come on.
A: We’re working our insides out.

Are there any assumptions surrounding Glass and Ashes?

A: We’re hangout-core, you know?
J: The only rumours that I’ve heard are like about at a lot of the shows in the States you can’t drink at, so you hear a lot of flak sometimes, like “Oh, the Glass and Ashes dudes are out, they’re drinking in the van!” We like to party, so we party. Not saying we do a bunch of insane shit, we drink, we high five, we yell sometimes. We like to get night-zoo.

I think that’s it, let’s go out somewhere.

A: Yeah, fuck this.

Thank you though, for doing this. Cheers to you!

A: Yeah, cheers! Hear the glass.
CHING!
J: Clankees!

Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper?

2009-10-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

Here's a new article about being on the dole. It's not quite finished but I'd rather be off the dole when I complete it. Hopefully by the time the new issue comes out, this dole article will be a retrospective piece and I'll be getting my anorexic dick sucked by Peaches Geldof on coke. Yeah, those days will rule.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being on the Dole

I haven’t worked a 5 day week since 2004, so I guess it’s only natural that my casual attitude to employment meant that I was the first sucker to wind up on job seekers allowance when the recession kicked in. It ain’t bad, it ain’t good, it’s nothing. Being on the dole just makes me think of overcast days, white noise, catshit, and nu metal. At first I was deeply frustrated at my failures and tried in vain to find a job which would somehow justify my existence. But JSA is like taking too much drugs, fight it and you’ll go all mental in the head. Go with it, and you might just totally expand your mind and have a jolly good time. Of course there will be the terrible moments where you’ll feel like you’ve betrayed your very birth, but try to ignore those. Here’s some helpful tips.

1. Don’t be a haggard masturbator, for fuck sake.
Everyone expects you to be a lay about, playing computer games, drinking, and constantly wanking out of sheer boredom. Well, try not jerking off for as long as possible, it has magical effects. One can spend a whole afternoon sitting in mild frenzy watching spunky young art students go about their delightful business. Some of my best nights out have been in the grip of a two week masturbating fast, walking around with lightning in your loins, ready to fuck even the beastliest wench. However, being in this state has led to some of the more “short lived” sex jams when even putting on a condom was a chore.

2. Fare Dodging
It’s important to get about so you don’t get miserable as sin. Killing yourself because you’re poor is no excuse. Best get yourself out of your normal scenery for a while, the further away the better. Especially if there’s a chance of getting some tail. Just don’t let the job centre find out where you‘ve gone! One day in April I had the opportunity to catch a one way ride up to Swansea to watch Bridge and Tunnel which I couldn’t pass up. My bank account was looking anorexic as per usual, certainly not enough for a return ticket so I knew I’d have to be a wily little fellah to get back to my house, 250 miles away. The show was great fun, a meager amount of grog was drank and I even achieved an impressive “Chubby in the Clubby”. Afterwards some kindly fellows gave me a lift back to Exeter, where upon I succeeded in jumping a train all the way back to Cornwall. Here’s the sneaky techniques I used to get free travel:
> If there happens to be a delayed train, catch that one instead - they’re not so likely to be
checking tickets.
> Normally when a train pulls into a station the conductor gets out to look at the people getting on
and off, try to avoid being seen and note which end of the train the conductor is, then get on the
opposite end.
> Take some ear plugs, put your hood up and pull the sleeping position known as “the napping
mongoloid”. Close your eyes, dribble, let your arms hanging freely. Look a little bit mental.
They’ll only wake you up if they possess an actual hatred of mankind.
> Leave your stuff in the luggage area and proceed calmly to the WC. Take a book, take a seat,
take your time, 30 – 45 minutes isn’t suspect in the least, and if you actually pooh whilst sitting
there, even better. If someone happens to knock, say in the dumbest Midlands accent “LEAVE
ME UHLOONE, I’M TAKING A SHIIIIIIT.”

3. Stay in bed for as long as possible.
I usually get out of bed when it hurts to lie in every position. Imagine you’re one of those hotdogs you see at the cinema, slowly cooking on all sides on a hot metal griddles. At the point where I consider myself a “well cooked sausage” I know that I’m ready to start the afternoon with hardcore fucking vim and vigor.

4. Remember: Take, take, take.
No one’s expecting you to be a Saint – you’re poor as shit and you need to live. Don’t shoplift unless you’re good at it, just take all that free crap that’s there to be taken; toilet paper from the public toilet, herbs from your neighbour’s wallgarden, condiment sachets, your housemates medicated mouthwash (containing ethanol for booze fresh breath), and all those delicious unattended drinks down boozer.

5. Eat with the times.
Since signing on six months ago my diet has become like that of a little street urchin circa 1941 in Nazi occupied Poland. Suffering makes you a better person but going hungry makes you all crazy, trying to find a comfortable middleground can be difficult. I normally eat root vegetable soups and bread, it combats the psychosis but still gives me that down and out vibe that drives the ladies wild.
My favourite dinner is borscht, Russian beetroot soup. It kicks ass! Aside from the morale boosting after-effects of having pink piss and purple turds, beetroot soup tastes far out. Cheap as fuck and you can make it last the whole week if needs be. Find your own recipe, because it’ time for Short Crust.

"Humour. It's a difficult concept." - Saavik, Star Trek II

2009-10-01T02:04:00.000-07:00

For some unknown reason this week has just been shit from the offset. On monday afternoon after a breakfast of peanut butter eggy-bread my friend Greg proclaimed that he was disillusioned with life. This was shortly followed by a short speech explaining why life wasn't worth living. "I'm sick of living on the breadline, and I'm sick of eating fucking bread!" And with this he jumped out his seat and slashed the poster of the Crocus, Bangers, and Lavotchkin Berlin show in half with a massive kitchen knife. This display of hopeless frustration at the world set the tone for the week. Infact I can't even dwell on it any longer - I gotta go ride my bike. In brief, no new article this week because I'm fed up. See ya next time. Here's the guide to happiness from issue 5. But incase that's too cheerful, here's a quote from Star Trek summing up the despondancy of a generation, The Next Generation.

Data - "There's nothing out there; absolutely nothing."

Geordi - "Well it's a damn ugly nothing."

I'm so cool my boss had to fire me

2009-09-24T02:29:00.000-07:00

It was sometime in April, six months into my first bout of unemployment when I first realised I wasn't alone in my struggle. I was reading the paper at my friend's house when I came across this cartoon, and thought "...My life has become a Dilbert comic." At that moment I felt a great affinity with Dilbert. This comic summed up six months of being on jobseekers; it was shit, but it was funny in a fucked up sort of way. Quite often sitting in the jobcentre I'd start giggling, but I'm still not entirely sure what about. Needless to say I'm still on the dole and so are plenty of my brethren, so I've decided to write an article about jobseeker survival which I'll post up next week, I just need to take some pictures of hot art students first. The column below can serve as a starter dish before the main course. It's a little story about the lengths people are driven to to scrounge up a few pennies. There are plastic charity dogs with more money in their bellies than I have in the whole world and it's very important to always try to twist their heads off when you walk by. Never give in to those filthy hounds.

DEAD PECKERS

By Slater Wilcox

Having been somewhat noodled by the economic recession, redundancy, and the subsequent slim pickins of the benefits system I recently took matters into my own hands to scrape together a few extra pennies. No my friends, I wasn’t quite ready for a job. Fuck that shit. Nor was I quite ready to start selling my silky soft artist hands for use in dark alley handjobs. Before I reached those sorts of levels I thought I’d try my hand at little of the ol‘ “unpaid voluntary work”; a bit of the under the counter, hush hush, job ‘n’ knock work. You know – benefit fraud.

I put out the word on the streets and soon I had a call from my sister saying that I could do two days work, Friday and Saturday, at a pheasant shoot in Devon, cash in hand, free lunch and port. Not very vegetarian of me, but fuck it I wasn’t going to eat the little bastards. Thursday rolled around, I got all my shit together as to look the part – moleskin trousers, studded wellington boots, and the shooting jacket which belonged to my brother-in-law’s grandfather. I spent Thursday night thoroughly loose on booze, so that come seven o’clock Friday I woke up to my alarm like an enraged bear who had been rudely awoken from heavy sedation. I couldn’t see properly, I stunk, and I just wanted to smash, kill, destroy. I briefly lay there feeling angry at the world before remembering that I was going to spend the day hitting trees with sticks and sending countless innocent animals to their deaths. I felt somewhat better and got out of bed.

Turning up at the farm where the shoot was leaving from was like going back in time 100 years. Tweed everywhere, deerstalker hats, moustaches. One of the trainee gamekeepers turned up in his work van, down the side was printed “British Mole Catchers”. I shook my head in disbelief that people actually get paid to exclusively catch moles. We all congregated in an small barn which I noted had a quaint little log fire going in the corner. We received our instructions and then the seventeen of us “beaters” entered the small horse trailer which was decked out with two benches on either side and five horizontal bars running through the middle divide (later the 300 odd dead birds would be hung from these). The back was closed up, shutting out most of the daylight and we were then towed away by a shitkicker in his John Deere tractor. It felt like something sinister was about to go down, maybe it was just the raging hangover turning me into a weenie wimp, but I was getting a distinctly Nazi Germany vibe.

Basically the seventeen of us "beaters" spent the day rounding up pheasants from a series of pleasant locations, hitting everything in sight and waving our flags till the feathered bastards flew off to their deaths at the hands of some toffish, hooray henry prick with a shotgun. It was in a maize field I had my first “Schindler’s List” moment. The maize was up to my neck and every so often I’d see a bird fly off towards the guns and blast out a trail of shit behind them. I couldn’t see them, but the noise of the hen pheasants was all around me “pee! pee! pee!”. I didn’t feel too good anymore, those upper class shitheads had already killed enough to boast about, this was just getting greedy and murderous. A couple of hens came running through the long maize towards me. I held my flag tight to my side, looked the other way and let them run past. I would be known as “Slater Wilcox the Merciful” to their chicks, if they survived the next day that is.

The day slowly progressed in the same fashion, until it was time to get my blood money for the seven hours I had put in to the avian Final Solution. I was tired, cold, I had eaten too many pasties and my wrist hurt. I was given my envelope containing the hard earned cash. My spirit broke as I pulled out four crumpled up five pound notes. The same amount given to the feral 7 year old whom earlier in the day I had seen take a shit about 200 yards from where I was standing in clear view. My morale was crushed, and I just wanted to leave.

I had already agreed to work the next day so I went at it with a hardened heart, knowing I was getting paid about £2 an hour. Fucking pheasants, fucking toffish cocksuckers, fucking feral 7 year old shitter, fuck fuck fuck. Another seven hours went by at a painfully slow pace, another 300 birds were shot, 1600 cartridges were fired, £25,000 was shelled out by the Hooray Henry pricks for the weekend, and one Slater Wilcox went home feeling truly plucked for measly £40.

I only have two interests: Worshipping Satan and Big, Jagged Hunting Knives

2009-09-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

Over the next couple of months I'll be posting old Lucida Console articles until I've ran out and have to write a whole new issue. urgh. This here is the Recreating Predator article from issue two. A story of tense homoeroticism played out in the chilly Autumnal air of October 2003. I remember sitting in my geology class the following morning feeling strangely smug at having been shellacked in shit 24 hours before. I was one cool dude who was too damn hip for that classroomful of rock dorks, so I ditched the geology and embraced the shit. Shit 4 Life.

Poop Deck Thrashers

2009-09-16T04:06:00.000-07:00

This article was supposed to be in issue 9 of Lucida Console, but i doubt it'll ever get finished so here ya are with a snippet of shit about skating in boat mould. Not the best thing ever written. Thanks to Zack for the one good picture.

In the beginning there was the Word, and the word was cowabunga, dude. With the spirit of righteous shred master Bart Simpson possessing us, Mile High, Short Crust, Raw Rocket Dog and myself went on the a much needed skate adventure. Boredom was in need of a good kick in the cock, so we decided to try to locate the sketchiest spot in the whole of Cornwall. There was rumour of some totally radical abandoned boat moulds behind Asda in Penryn which needed our immediate shredding attention.

The rumour proved to be true and we tried not to have a cow as we climbed thru the fence into the shitty industrial wasteland where the boat moulds were. As well as being sited next to a gypsy hangout, the boats are surrounded by old oil drums, rusty metal poles, and general industrial shite which wouldn’t look out of place in that scene in Robocop where that guy melts in toxic waste. But ay caramba! these boats were fun. As an addition to the excellent transitions, climbing up the 10ft frames into the boats was a fantastic workout for our already perfect physiques. Spunky young men like us don’t wade knee deep in amazing babes because we’re dweebs, eh?

I fell down and hit my head

2009-09-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

This mammoth piece was written when I still was being "educated" two years ago. If you can stick it out it's almost worth it. Even it's just for the stolen NOFX quote to end the whole thing. This never made it into the zine because of it's size - it's a goddmamn horsecock of an article.

Your loyal author goes off the rails, gets himself a Christian brainwashing, and then gets Satanically un-brainwashed before finally learning nothing.

Much like Jesus’ humble beginnings in a makeshift bed, my quest for spiritual enlightenment started when I fell asleep under a blanket of sand only to be awoken by two starry-eyed twelve year old boys who thought I was a dead tramp on the beach. In true vagrant style I offered them some tasty booze from out of my bag, which the thirsty little dogs proceeded to slam down their throats faster than a shithouse rat. They chatted to me about bikes for about ten minutes before leaving me to go back to sleep. A little while later they woke me up again, gave me £1 and told me to take care of myself. It was at about the same time that I decided to join a church to straighten out my life. I was uncertain which one would lead the best path to righteousness, so I joined three just to make sure.

“Alcohol and Religion - the two greatest downfalls of mankind.” Friedrich Nietzsche

The aim of most Christian based faiths is to secure a place in Heaven by converting as many people as possible, kind of like that deal at the snooker hall where if you introduce a friend to the club, you get in free. I must have been sending out some pretty strong signals into the atmosphere because a no sooner had I started thinking about which religion to choose, I pretty much immediately received a knock at the door from those relentless crusaders - the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I always take a couple of copies of The Watchtower when they bring it round, and I’ve always found them to be charming in a simple kind of way, but I had never thought of the Jehovah’s Witnesses as suitable religious courting material. All of a sudden I was seeing them in a different light, they became a real option. I decided to show an interest in what they were telling me, and after it became apparent that I might get them a ticket into Heaven, they offered me a copy of What Does the Bible Really Teach? Which outlines basic Jehovah’s Witness beliefs. We shared our goodbyes and I said I’d try and read some of the book before they came back.

Now, I don’t know if it was things like “The world as a whole is beyond reform. The Bible reveals that the time is near when God will eliminate the wicked world during his war of Armageddon...” being referred to as “good news.” Or if it was the writing style bordering on comic genius and total insanity, but something about becoming a Jehovah’s Witness didn’t resonate well within me. It was a bit too fixated with death. It wasn’t really my thing, they had nothing to offer, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be indoctrinated into their gang.

They might have guessed this would happen so they pulled out their trump card – a shimmering, beautiful, young She-Witness called Sophie to try and brainwash me in my own home. They pretty much had me by the balls and I was all theirs. I sacrificed all rationality and spent the next couple of weeks learning the ins and outs of Jehovah in an attempt to impress her, impress her enough so that we might get all lusty outside of marriage. Then someone must have clicked their fingers because I saw what was happening and snapped out of it. There were easier ways to get girls, so I stopped coming to the door whenever they came by and eventually they stopped coming to the door too.

After that unsuccessful episode, I decided to get back to basics. Maybe the Jehovah’s Witnesses were a bit too “out there” in their ideologies; I wanted to become a better person without having to worrying about apocalyptic firestorms ruining my hairdo. So I spoke to my friend who goes to the Emmanuel Baptist church near my house. He told me that I should come along and that the people there are really nice. So that following Sunday morning I skipped out on sleeping, had a shave and put on my best clothes and went along to the Church with a completely open, unbiased mind.

We got to the Church early so I could meet some people and have a look around. The place reminded me of a school gym; high ceiling, pine floor, what appeared to be a miniature swimming pool behind the altar. I asked my friend why there was an 8 foot swimming pool at the back, hoping that there’d be some sort of religious pool-party after the sermon, but he just told me, “It’s the Baptism pool.” In my ignorance I failed to realise what Baptists actually do. I should have cast my mind to Southern Baptists in America; the righteous preaching, the full body submersions, and the trance-like appreciation of the Lord, Jesus Christ. It would have prepared me for what was to be a painfully awkward two hours of Christian fundamentalism.

Nearer 10:30 the place had filled up to about 200 people, eager to score their weekly fix. Everyone was all smiles; dressed in calming shades like lilac and cornflower blue. It was like a sickly sea of niceness. I was still relatively comfortable at this point, even kind of enjoying myself. Everyone was being friendly to me and seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. Even when the minister came on and talked for a while I was feeling pretty good about everything being said. But then we sung the first song. When I was in primary school singing hymns was one of my favorite things to do. The natural symbolism and simple songs with a message were kinda sweet. However, I didn’t enjoy singing songs like “I want to be, Holy”, “Make my Heart pure gold”, and “Thank you for the cross, my Friend” It felt, horribly corny and ill-thought out. Thank you for the cross? What the hell? Why would you thank someone for the thing they were murdered with?

Things became progressively worse after the first song was sung. People started singing with their arms outstretched, rocking back and forth. The band started using bongos and chimes, like in a cheesy boyband video, and the songs got more ridiculous and difficult to sing, “I’ll give you more than a song Lord, because a song is not all that is what’s required.” My powerful singing voice was quickly reduced to the inaudible whinings of a weenie wimp.

Thankfully, some genuine entertainment was to come – full body immersion, Baptism ceremony! Rather humorously, the lady’s last name was Angell. I asked my friend why she was being baptised so late in life, and he told me that Baptists don’t believe in Baptising children, they wait until adulthood so that the person can make the choice for themselves, which I thought was fairly reasonable. Anyway, she got up on stage, gave the standard spiel about Jesus becoming more important to her after some challenging point in her life, then the minister dunked her fully clothed just like a filthy little kid who doesn’t want to be washed, schloop! I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle when she emerged like a happy, wet dog.

At this point I knew Baptism wasn’t for me. It was overtly in-your-face, sickly sweet martyr worshiping. I was looking for more of a traditional religion; old church, pleasant hymns, and no people acting all crazy and possessed in the aisles. The real deal-breaker came when a girl’s voice peeped up from behind me wanting to give an impromptu testimony. It was the standard, I was incurably ill, I prayed, Jesus told me not to take the treatment anymore, I got better, medicine is rubbish. The best thing was that the illness was any rush of adrenaline made her pass out. I was sitting there for the whole time she spoke with my fingers crossed desperately wishing and hoping, but no luck. I wanted out. The ceremony finished, I told my friend it was good, but the songs made me feel awkward and I skipped off home feel empty and sad.

So far, Christian based religions had proved to be entertaining and kind of laughable, but failed to give me that funky-feeling which I desired. I found myself agreeing with eighteenth century writer, Tom Paine who referred to Christianity as “Christianism” as to give it that ring of an irrational sect rather than a semi-respected organized religion. Instead of trying for third time lucky, I turned my back on Christ, and checked out Satanism. Hell, why not give it a shot?

Unlike the Kingdom of Jehovah you don’t get Satanists just knocking on your door, and unlike Baptists; there isn’t an obvious Church in your town. Satanism required a little bit of groundwork, and I liked it. I discovered that Satanism isn’t just the preserve of 14 year old girls who like bad black metal; the whole theory is based around anti-stupidity and pro-reason. No eternal damnation, Armageddon, or vaguely homoerotic worship, this was rational ideas presented in a cool way like it was rebellious, and smart.

Founded by Carnival type Anton LaVey in California in 1966, the Church aims for social-Darwinism which means phasing out stupidity, ignorance and violence and creating a more enlightened generation of people. They seem pretty big on “exploring personal skills, talents, and inventiveness.” One section of the information pack encourages young people interested in Satanism to “Learn to play an instrument, paint or build a robot. Use your brain and your heart to find out what is right, what is true, and what makes you stronger.” Maybe it was the brainwashing, but it just seemed like a really good piece of advice. I felt like Satanism, despite its connotations, was a sensible and quite respectable way to lead life. But before getting too involved and shaving my head, I wanted to talk to someone with experience. So I got in touch with a UK representative of the Church of Satan, Matt Dencappo (Most Satanists change their names when they join, and funnily enough, founder Anton LaVey’s son is called Satan Xerxes LaVey). We exchanged some emails, wherein I asked a couple of fundamental questions asking whether Satanism provides any direction for people, he answered blandly, “Those adults looking for a god to make them feel better about their existence, or pending lack of existence would really not find any happiness within the Church of Satan, unless of course they conclude that the gods they are seeking are actually themselves, but then they would be Satanists.” Ok, I think that he meant I’ll only realise direction from within myself, not some fictitious god. But I started to worry. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough to be in Satan club. If I couldn’t understand one stupid email, how the hell was I going to grasp any relevant theory at all?

He talked about some interesting things like how children will grow-up and realise that religions like Christianity and Islam are essentially damaging, life-hating afflictions, and move on to something more like Satanism. But I just thought, surely if these children see two religions as damaging, they’re hardly going to want to join another one. Finally, I wanted to know what his views were on why a normal person might want to become a Satanist. He told me, “Satanism offers very little to the average person on the streets. The Church of Satan doesn’t want the average; we want the extra-ordinary, productive misfits who know they are different from the rest of the herd. Those dynamic, intelligent and creative individuals who do throw in their lot with the Church of Satan will be privy to a plethora of opportunities and receive un-paralleled support in their innovative endeavours. Those who do not belong with us will receive nothing but registered membership.” Whereas it seemed as if Christianism was open to any old moron wanting to find answers, Satanism was this little elitist club that was vigorously selective in whom it lets into their ranks. Like the kids in school who decide who’s cool and who’s not.

I started going off Satanism, and had a moment of clarity while reading about satanic writer Aleister Crowley’s impressive amount of STDs. I thought to myself, what the hell am I doing? I don’t need to join some stupid religion to be a good person, maybe take some of their ideas and philosophies, but don’t align myself with a bunch of kooks. I finally felt pretty good about myself; I had explored a path to enlightenment, and chose to go my own way. It’s not that I don’t believe in Jesus Christ, Satan, or whoever, it’s just I care about other things. The World could certainly use some miracles, but until then I’ll put my faith in human beings.

Gentlemen, Start Your Boners.

2009-09-15T12:53:00.000-07:00

So after a year of inactivity, creative slumps, redundancy, hemorroids, jaeger bomb liver damage, hard thrashing, lovelessness, and other trivialities of life; Lucida Console issue 9 is gradually being put together. So far there's an article about skating in a boat, a drunken interview with Exeter punk rock hot rods -The Cut Ups, and an article about sleeping on an attractive girl's sofa. This blog is just here to try to keep some sort of creativity going by mostly posting up stuff from three years ago. Slater or myself will update this every Friday and maybe some other days inbetween. PEACE.