glampunk
Crab On The Rampage
gloompunk; glitter goth: disciple of Rikki Nadir: demonik in disguise, etc.
Posts: 61 
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Post by glampunk on Sept 13, 2008 12:22:18 GMT
Pop Star Playing Cards! Neat NME free gift from the mid-nineties I guess as Kurt Cobain is the King of Diamonds and KLF are a King too. These come in dead handy if you are losing/ winning [delete as applicable] heavily at strip-poker or forfeits because you can always instigate an argument as to whether or not Carter-USM should really be the two of diamonds when Kate Bush doesn't get a look in, the scandalous omission of Martian Dance, is there anybody alive who thinks the Beatles are a better band than Wire and if so, what do they do for ears etc. Fight ensues, table is accidentally turned over, everyone forgets where they were and you can start all over with a clean slate! Note Bobby Gillespie sprawled amongst a pile of trashy pulp paperbacks! Mind you don't crease them, Mr. Swastika Eyes! And, before you ask, Catherine, Mr. J. Tull is one of legion notable absentees. On second thoughts, what a rotten freebie this really is! |
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Post by carolinec on Sept 13, 2008 14:36:58 GMT
And, before you ask, Catherine, Mr. J. Tull is one of legion notable absentees. Catherine!?! Shame on you, Dem, for getting my name wrong. I'm upset now ...  Caroline
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Post by sean on Sept 13, 2008 17:11:30 GMT
you can always instigate an argument as to whether or not Carter-USM should really be the two of diamonds Saw those guys live quite a few times back then... maybe not the greatest band on record but a bloody good live act. Cool brecause they drunkenly went for Phillip Scofield on tv (well, Fruitbat did) and they got sued by the Rolling Stones. And some of their cover versions ('Randy Scouse Git', the mighty 'Rent' and 'Another Brick in the Wall') were pretty spiffing. |
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Post by dem bones on Sept 13, 2008 20:15:36 GMT
And, before you ask, Catherine, Mr. J. Tull is one of legion notable absentees. Catherine!?! Shame on you, Dem, for getting my name wrong. I'm upset now ... Caroline
Ah, Caroline, Caroline! I can see how this hilarious mix-up came about! I was, in fact, addressing 'Catherine' who joined the board very briefly this morning when there were no guests around, so you wouldn't have noticed. Anyhow, her solitary post (before she deleted it) was this really long, dreary, rambling thing about how she thought I was great, you know, the way I look and all that, i'm better than Shakespeare, how she couldn't sleep for worrying about my arm, etc. You know I don't go in for that kinda stuff . Anyhow, when I asked her, very politely, to remove it, she also deleted her account in a huff! Oh, and before she left she wrote a second post, "I really like Jethro Tull!" and ... you are believing all this, aren't you?  |
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Post by carolinec on Sept 13, 2008 22:43:38 GMT
... you are believing all this, aren't you? Not a word!  But I must admit, I was wondering whether to ask you how your arm was again. Did you have physiotherapy on it? Is it straight again? What does the scar look like now? (and everyone's gonna hate me now for starting you off on that one again!  |
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Post by dem bones on Sept 14, 2008 12:09:51 GMT
My arm. Do you know, Caroline, even after all this time I can barely bring myself to mention it. Why, I can remember that morning as though it were only yesterday. The shining dew on the pavement. The larks singing their song of joy. And there's Joe the cheery milkman - hi Joe! - whistling a Gene Pitney standard as he delivers to number 47! A normal day. Much like any other. But as we left the block and stepped onto Cable Street, little did my arm and I know what fate had in store for us!
Exchanging a pleasant "hello!" and "good morning!" to everyone we encountered, directing pensioners to the Bingo Hall (even if they do hold you up in the post office and insist on showing complete strangers photo's of their gormless grandkids), it was as we approached the arches that tragedy struck! A runaway pram containing innocent baby had jack-knifed on Leman Street, straight into the path of an oncoming juggernaut! There was only one thing for it! With no regard for personal safety, I stepped smartly into the road. "No! Come back! You brave, nice slim young fool! It's madness! You'll be killed! Oh, I can't bear to look!" shrieked miss jumbo-perm from the cover of Witches #1: The Prisoner who was passing on the pavement, but my mind was made up. I would save this tiny tot e'en at the cost of my own life!
And then - a miracle! The driver, spotting me and my minuscule charge, applied his brakes, eventually slowing to a halt a mere 75 yards from where we stood! And it was as I tried to escape the lusty embraces and offers of a pint from the admiring throng that I slipped on that bastard phlegm-slick and went arse over tit. I ask you! What kind of degenerate leaves a fucking great grollie on the pavement where normal folk have to walk, eh?
Right. That's the first bit answered. I'll leave you on a cliff-hanger as regards the outcome of the physio and current bendiness (or otherwise) of the afflicted limb because, you know, I don't like to go on about it.
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