hello my funky monkeys... well, i was going to indulge in a bit of chris-bashing, but as it seems that the chap is already staggering around, bleeding from every orifice (better get them nappies out babe) i'll refrain. all i have to say on the subject of anal sex is don't knock it till you've tried it. and, by the way, if anybody wants to try it...... and if you aint tried it, and you're still talking about it...well, it seems that you're pontificating on a subject you know absolutely nothing about. anyway, onto twinklier things. depression. just kidding. no...the real point (and, (to quote ellen degenerate, rampant unnatural nappy-wearing lesbian) i do have one) of my mail was to pass on the following news: it seems that stu d's departure was predicted some time ago, and immortalised in song by the band; who promptly beamed said recording to mars (to where it is rumoured our sandal-wearing friend has retreated...trying to escape from the endless tabloid indifference). today, at the winter observatory in the canary islands, the following music was translated by one of those big telescopey things... what follows has been passed on by international spies. keep it under your hat. if you have one. otherwise, go buy a pack of pampers. not only can they be crafted into a variety of stylish headgear but they serve a whole kaleidoscope of purposes. and you never know when you're going to dribble.. this is what the spies heard ----------------------------------------- silence. a rustle. a moaning. a sound of someone sticking a bead up their nose. nothing for a moment, then a lone guitar is heard languidly playing. the song is an old martian melody that sounds uncannily like "hit me baby one more time" by our britney. abruptly this cuts out and the music begins. experienced music-lovers will recognise the tune as vaguely reminiscent of "leader of the pack" by the shangri-las. take one- sounds of isobel shuffling up to the microphone in a low-cut, short leather dress, her beautiful blonde bob bespiked with motorcycle grease. more sounds. as of struan and mick cooke shuffling either side, also both wearing low-cut short leather dresses. sound of someone undoing a nappy (no, sorry, i don't know where that came from...) fingers begin to click, toes to tap. a groovy mood is set.. struan: hey isobel, is that stuey d's ring you're wearing? isobel: nah, i got it out of a cracker...... sound of collective groans, drinking of coffee, and much wringing of terry towelling.. take two- sounds of isobel, struan and mick shuffling round in velvet catsuits...fingers, toes...you know the drill by now.. struan: hey, bella...is that stuey d's ring your wearing? isobel: oh...erm...yea, do you like it? music stops once more.. muttering of "no, you stupid twee bitch, uh-huh...its uh-huh..can you say uh-huh?" sound of a ginger scottish man being hit over the head with a hello kitty pencil case isobel: "uh-huh" struan: so, how'd you meet him? and our belle bursts into song... "i met him in a spud-u-li-ike he looked pretty cheesy get the picture? (yes, we see) that's when i fell for the looper at the back... i heard he was classy it seemed true to me he made shirley bassey look like debbie mcgee (made shirley bassey look like de-eb-bie mcgee) they said that he wus twee-ee but that really quite appealed to me-ee that's when i fell for the looper and his slacks.. when i saw the cut of his corduroy (roy...roy) i knew that there could be no other boy (knew that there could be no o-o-o-ther boy) oh how it twitched my pelvis when he sang "a century of elvis" that's when i fell for the looper's great lunch-pack i knew that we could fly to the moon although he couldn't quite hold a tune (tune...tune) he kind of stood around while we made that great big b&s sound but i still loved him he's so good in the sack... <sudden cessation of music....we hear isobel's anguished voice recount the tale> and then there came that day...when stuey went away... he vanished and he never said goodbye.. he left my eyelids damp...my finger's getting cramp...its hard to please yourself without a guy... i saw the passing lorry and the giant "vimto" pallet i heard a cough, the load fell off, and rolled towards the chalet(t) my heart missed a beat stu was in there would he be prepared? (nononononononono) it seems i lost him at camber sands (sands sands) he said he liked one of the other bands (lips...bands) he started a new life he buggered off to join his wife i'll never forget him the looper with the cap.. and now it seems like i'm nearly done without him, b&s are just minus one there's very little time to sa-ave.. i'm off to be a gentle wa-ave bugger sebastian i'm going to make a stack.... <fade> (looper at the back give me on-one) (looper at the back now he's go-one) (looper at the back been outsho-one) (looper at the back carry o-on) with that, the tune fades away into an eerie silence, and the theme tune of "wizadora" can be heard playing. someone is heard shouting "where's me fuckin money?" ends. -------------- so, my friends, i bring this discovery to you all, and trust you will find it illuminating. i think it says a lot (i worry a little about what it really says...) anyway, i'm off to be buggered by my lovely boyfriend, who has waited patiently for me to finish this mail....hey baby...if-a-lovin-you-is-wrong-i-don-wanna-be-right..... i'm a terry towelling man myself. ian ps. i heard some lesbians find that their tongues swell to such an extent, that they have to borrow wheelbarrows to push the offending organs around in....grown women pushing wheelbarrows....god help us and protect us. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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