It's a tiny little golden compact disc wrapped in a yellow and green photocopied sleeve in a see-through plastic wallet, made in northern England by those pesky Alien Porno Midgets. What is? My subject, my fellow sinister sitizens. This information a propos of nada; duck-egg; zilch; nuttin, by the way, except by the way of an introduction to another garbled no-harm-intended blitzkrieg of a post from yours truly. That, and I just love the magical vibes of saying, and repeating, *the high altitude porno waikiki beach alien midgets*. Go on, intone it too. It's better than saying *gouranga*. the high altitude porno waikiki beach alien midgets yes! Don't track them down and buy into their sound, though, unless you want to listen to that which is weirder than weird and then some, with electronically strangled pedal steel guitar on top. Now onto being driven the wrong way down a motorway. Yesterday. It's today's anecdote. So, without further ado but much convolution involved: I was returning from a lamentably idleberryless sojourn in the big smoke London town and, by the only account offered, someone got shot on the M6 in the middle of the night. This, the driver told us over the tannoy later. At the time, all that was apparent was a general lack of movement in the traffic. I mean, hours, or so it seemed, of no motion whatsoever, which does not a proper journey make. I'm all for journeys involving getting places, not being still, even if it's nice 'n' zen now and then [!? yeah, me too, and I wrote it. Sorry]. Anyway, the bus eventually started up again, but in reverse gear along the fast lane, cranked into a U-turn then proceeded towards what I expected would be fast approaching headlights. At 140mph. Rather alarming and apt to be inconvenient. However, no such result resulted, thanks to the ministrations of a nice police person in a big chunky car with blue flashing lights parked at the nearest junction controlling things. So off we tootled as part of an increasingly long single file of juggernauts and suchlike down the deserted backstreets of somewhere like Wigan at 4am. We were late home. The end. My life is not like the movies. Of course, a fellow passenger announced she had a bomb and Elvis was seen driving a small apple green Fiesta GL down the hard shoulder singing 'I left my heart in Brondesbury' just after we re-joined the motorway but before the flying saucer landed at Charnock Services (Northbound), but I'm a bad liar. Can you imagine someone prattling on like this is capable of holding down a proper job? Well, I've not proved it. Actually, it's quite good fun not doing any work for a living, even if it does seem to be raining all the time. This morning, however, over a leisurely breakfast of sausages, eggs, fried potatoes and tomatoes with fresh basil, rhubarb from the garden with cornflakes, an aero mousse (fourpack for 99p, buy one get one free) and a pot of Earl Grey and, oh, just *lounging* around with a magazine, it was so sunny and warm it seemed in order to activate the patio fountain. I even had time to rummage around in the garage for the plastic attachment that converts the bluggubblegluggubble water non-jet into a priapic sixteen inch multiple spray! Hah! take that you labouring types in offices with carpet tiles that build up static and max-pax coffee from a silly machine in the corridor that also spews horrible soup! Take it from me, and my bike! Ok. Please ms/r. job-giving person (yes, you, the dynamic facilitator in the suit), I take it all back. Make me a productive member of society. I desire your sponduliks. And on our merry way, non sequitur stylee... People like getting name-checked in posts, Idleberry. They do indeed Caitlin. But what of the people who inevitably get left out Ken? Not chu, I'll wager, and not Mr. Cochrane Mr. Cochrane Mr. Cochrane. I'll make it simple. Name checks cost 5p each from now on, payable in Euros. That'll be 0.164 Euros Sgazetti, should you decide to take me up on this offer twice. Three name-checks, suitably couched in relevant prose, will set you back nearly a quarter Euro [are there sub-denominations, a la pfennings, pennies? ] Hannah Brown, but you'd be better off saving them and making a trip to the next scotchpicnic in Edinburgh (date to be announced, but pencil Saturday 27th July into those furry covered little notebooks, people, and we'll see what happens). See! That was a picnic rumour slipped in there! Meanwhile, if I say deputy dubs b squared baker miss baker miss lindsey lou baker you won't get much change out of a dollar. [Come to think of it, maybe a Euro divided into a hundred bits is called 100 cents, assuming one were to divide one equally and figuratively rather than in any other way, especially literally.] It seems the latest Glasgow shindig went swimmingly without me, despite predictions to the contrary, which I'm sure were all just falsely modest negative hype on the part of it's organiser. She (I've named you twice already so I'm trying to save you some Euros here) didn't know where it was! Somehow *I* just knew that, with BGM Casarotto involved, so would a football match and hence West 13 must've been a field somewhere. As it turned out, a field next to a tap from which people were drinking and in which they were snogging, which sounds intriguing, as in WHO WAS SNOGGING? Did the tap drip seductively? I confess, I've been there before and am all too aware that this tap is in fact a public house and not some Claes Oldenburg effort [If you're not into modern art, Claes makes massive shuttlecocks and binoculars and possibly taps big enough to snog in, on, under, whatever, but don't ask me why. Check out his 'Study for Giant Chocolate', Laura]. Still. Erm, I seem to have forgotten what I was supposed to be saying. Ah yes. I remember now. THE HIGH ALTITUDE PORNO WAIKIKI BEACH ALIEN MIDGETS You know you want to hula koo maki saki, baby. Gordon +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+