Thursday, 12 February 2009


I'm going to a Cramps tribute/Lux memorial night tomorrow (even though it's ten shitting quid to get in), and I feel like as a kind of follicular threnody to the late, great man himself I should shoot for the moon (perhaps literally) and enter the highest hair contest; after all, "The higher the hair, the closer to God" is the one axiom about 'Im Upstairs that I'd even consider getting tattooed on my virgin(!) flesh, and let's be honest, this is the only fucking chance I'll have to get close to Him at this rate, considering some of my current lifestyle choices. The good news is that it's only eight quid entry if you take a bottle of hairspray to the door, and you are (sort of) looking at a woman who once broke her little toe with an industrial-sized cannister of Elnett Extra Hold, so I would argue that it's safe to assume that I am going to have change from a tenner (albeit not enough to buy a pint in this city, the bastards).

I got a Guns N Roses t-shirt through the post today - in my defense, I won it for a quid and I firmly believe that on some level I was led to understand that I would also receive the seller's tattooed torso - and I am frankly conflicted about wearing it. On the one hand: Guns N Roses? Really? "Sweet Child O' Mine"? "November Rain?" That's something I want to openly affiliate myself with now? But on the other: It really is a fucking great t-shirt (no sleeves, aged to perfection), and I think we can all agree that, in his heyday, Duff Mckagan was highly bangable. Also, if you have never sung along to "Welcome To The Jungle", then you have no rock, or indeed roll. Sorry to be the one to tell you, buddy. Maybe I'll give it its premiere tonight at this:

I know, I know, I'm a ridiculous cliche. But I'm actually much more interesting than I seem! How about when I ask you those overly-familiar questions and then answer them as if the blog is a single person with which I am having a two-sided conversation? Doesn't that actually strike you as a complex literary conceit, sort of like the way Camus wrote "The Fall" as a single monologue? No? Fuck it, then. Let's all just get hammered and really give 'er! I'll go get some beers right now!

(What, I always take my top off when I'm celebrating. Don't you?)

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