Friar Cous Cous

Trussed-up in a wartime bandage-suit...

Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Third Wicket

When being in life, looks and genetic pre/post-dispositions can have a real impâct.

Being male, facially handsome, muscular but slim, with a donkey at third wicket can be a real facilitator in all of life’s male-female rendez-vouses. But there are also many misadvantages two.

Let you let my male, facially handsome, muscular but slim, with a donkey at third wicket, friend tell you what about it that you don’t know…..

Hello, my name is mine, and my second and third names are too. In addition, I am a male, facially handsome, muscular but slim, with a donkey at third wicket kind of guy. But let me tell you that this has led me into many love affairs in which I did not wish to be in or part of. So what you people fail to realise, as many of my children and wives have done and do, is that being a male, facially handsome, muscular but slim, with a donkey at third wicket type of bloke isn’t as nice as I remember.

So let that shit out a lesson for you all.

Friday, February 02, 2007

A Note From My Friend That Was Sent In Lent

Hello, my name is Sir William of Moscow. I was born into a family unit and originally trained to be someone who could do, and definitely did, impressions of famous people. But soon, through lack of a dictionary, I switched to being an impresario. My life has been a circus ever since.

Not literally of course, although I did, as a transient, take Barnum’s Shilling once or thrice. I juggled, on stage and off, but soon got very tired of elephant shit, bearded ladies and John Henry Barnum himself – which led me to my next adventure.

When I took the time to look over my diaries, written at the time and timeabouts of that next adventure, they filled me with pleasure, excitement, wonder, obsession, orgasm, chill and thrill; but unfortunately I shortly afterwards dropped them at a fireworks display, right next to a bonfire, and they were stolen by a thief.

I categorically and clinically cannot remember a single event or detail from the time period that those diaries covered, so the whole of the previous paragraph is a big letdown.

But what of the next set of adventures I went on to sit on and achieve? Well, you’ll just have to wait for my next instalment. I know I will. Will you? Will you wait? Please do wait now, won’t you? I know I will.


Willie Moscow.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Ancestory of 'Fuck'

The reason why the word for a fuck is 'fuck' is that people say 'fuck' when they are fucking.

Monday, January 08, 2007

The Dame is Sixty

And for Nutgroist the Friar continues his travels with...

Humid Interaction

In the balmy evening palms
Out of sight of the bamboo gendarmes
Sitting in our bamboo chairs…

There was a sweet satisfaction
A certain chemistry…
That led to humid interaction

Fantastic colours on tropical birds
As they nest for the night
And night-time sounds are heard…

There was a sweet satisfaction
A certain mystery…
A sure psychology…
It flooded right through me…
And led to humid interaction


Let the morning announce its parade
Let’s not live to regret this charade
Let resignation sink in with the wine
When we catch that plane
We’ll just forget this time

[end bridge]

In the balmy evening palms
Out of sight of the bamboo gendarmes
Sitting in our bamboo chairs…

There was a sweet satisfaction
A certain chemistry…
That led to humid interaction

[track fades]

I can’t stand that mystery
I want to touch this chemistry

When I catch that plane tonight
I will be out of my mind
And you’ll be out of sight

I can’t stand that mystery
I want to touch this chemistry

[Etc. until fade]

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Saxless Sex

Personally, I prefer not to hear the sound of a saxophone during sex, or during the viewing of sex, live or on tape. And it was with this in mind that I went into the studio the other day to record a song called...

No Sax In Sex

Sex with a sax
Is no sex at all
'Cos the sweet sax tone
Makes my desire fall
It's the clichéd sound
That brings my love to the ground
Can make the fittest body
Look wheelchair-bound

No sax in sex
Do it for me
No sax in sex
Let me hear her groan
No sax in sex
Turns the sleaze into cheese
No sax in sex
I ain’t gettin’ the horn.

I am going to release this song on 12 inch vidi-disc, with a free half-bottle of rosé wine, a poster of Manhattan's famous skyline in classic silhouette, and a solid oak dick-splint. The price? Your sax is as good as mine.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Medical Ice Cubes

A quick update from the Friary sweatshop...

We’ve got a new range of ice cubes now; but they are for medical use only – i.e. you can only use them to apply to swellings and bruises - and even then only when they are encased in protective packs.

If you put them in a drink or suck them they will MAKE YOU ILL AND YOU WILL DIE.

Whereas normal ice cubes are, ideally, made from pure frozen water, these medical-use cubes contain tiny particles of shit.

We do make normal ice cubes as well, but we also throw an amount* of shit into one of our freezing vats for medical cubes because we can sell them for cheaper. And the saving we make pays for the shit all by itself. Isn't it wonderful how business works?


Saturday, November 18, 2006

Christmas Is Nearly Here...Again!!!

So why not treat your family, friends and most vivid enemies with some of these Christmas ideas on sale for this one of your Christmases?

White Pot and Black Kettle Set
Now your pot can call your kettle black in the complete absence of irony and with zero hypocrisy.

Three lasers of equal strength in a leather gift box with complementary 'Guide to Lasers' handbook.

A massive chest of treasure featuring jewels, crowns and gold coins, with authentic iron hinges and locks, made of authentically aged oak, expertly treated with sea-water, sand and parrot droppings. For the poor sailor in the family.

KFC Christmas Tree
Ever tire of the same old stale chocolate borbles wrapped in silver foil hanging from the branches of your Christmas tree? Every single decoration on this tree is a sparkling foil gift containing the choicest cuts of fried chicken made the way only The Colonel and his closest friends know how. And how.

Bargain Laser Set
Just two lasers presented in a leather-effect pouch, with complementary slip.

A Ship's Bell
In hand-polished brass with your own personalised engraving, mounted in a glass and mahogany case adorned with maritime-themed filigree. Ideal for the wealthier ex-sailor or ship's bell enthusiast.


My great-uncle was never one to dictate terms. Except during the negotiations preceding the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919. He was Georges Clemenceau from December 1918 until Spring 1921.

Peter Flesch

Peter Flesch goes untrusted at:

Saturday, October 21, 2006

I Do Not

I do not watch TV
I do not go for walks
I do not read good books
I do not like small talk
I do not breathe the morning air
That warms from silver around my sleep
I do not hear my neighbour’s screams
I don’t remember any dreams

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Some People Tile

What do you do?

I write plays

What do you do?

I write music

What do you do?

I just make believe

What do you do?

I like to think I'm it

What do you do?

Some people tile for a living

What do they do?

They just tile

And how do they do?

Very well they do

And how do you do?

I stare into the noose

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Did you know?

That Wing Commander Brian Pseuicyde committed genocide last Thursday. No, nor did you.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Gaggy Brides

Only a fool would take on a bull at full strength. And fooler than Mr. Gaggy Brides, a farmer from London, you would be hard-fooled to meet. He, alone, chose, by his own volition, to head goalwards a cross laid on by his lithe partner, Flight Lieutenant Albemarle Shency; but not with ball but with beast. Shency did cross the bull with his left foot (sweet), but a ball it was not and so Brides went to his death. The fact that literally none of this was reported in the regional broadsheet drives me to the brink of insanity.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Leather Travel... the name of a new ridiculously loud punk band I formed yesterday with Friar Berndt Lünch and Father Gymp Castanet. Unfortunately we have now split up, but when were together we practised in the Old Salt Mine down Zambia Way, and came up with our one and only song, a vicious and bitter critique of British economic reforms, 1971-1990. It's called, "I've Got a £1 Note"...

I've Got a £1 Note

I’ve got a one pound note
I’ve got a one pound note
It’s not worth anything
‘Cos it was taken out of circulation
Long ago

I’ve got 50p
I’ve got 50p
But it’s one of those old bigger ones
So it’s not worth anything to me

Lend me 12 and a half pence
Lend me 12 and a half pence
Oh no you can’t lend me that
‘Cos half a p
Is no longer legal currency

I didn’t buy anything on Switch
For five whole years
But that was between 1977 and 1982
And Switch wasn’t invented then

What’s going to be next?
Which one’s the next to go?
I reckon it’ll be the 2p
‘Cos it’s big and ugly and brown
And nothing anywhere costs 2p anymore
Except sweets
And kids don’t like them no more

I reckon that if we hadn't split up due to the poor acoustics in the salt mine, we'd still be together today. What do you think?

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Hot Chubby

I was feeling clinically depressed today...until I saw this advert for a porn site on the internet:-

Hot Chubby With Huge Oiled Hangers Dildoing

And all of a sudden I became hysterical, and had good reason to regret choosing to wear my favourite pair of underpants.

Read it again.

What Is The Classical?

What is The Classical?
It worked once and is
Therefore remembered,
Even though it never worked again.
It's just that nothing else
Worked once.

It started in innovation -
Drawings and logic,
But lives now in blind faith,
The classical safer than original.

Was once an intruder,
Then an inventor,
Again an intruder
We grew to love and
Depend on.

What is The Classical?
A dying man sucking his thumb.
So classical, so timeless;
Kept alive to no purpose;
Beyond the grave
Damned in classical behaviour.

Friday, December 30, 2005

Uncle Radiogagamemnon

I will always remember the last words ever spoken to me by my dear Uncle Radiogagamemnon, as he looked up at me and said,

I'm ha....
I'm ha...ha...
I'm having a ha...ha...
I'm having a fuh...
I'm having a fuh...fuh...
I'm having a fucking ha...
I'm having a fucking ha...ha...ha...
I'm having a fucking heart attack!

And at that, I ran off into the night.

I understand, however, that he is alive and well and living silently in Papua New Jimmy.

Must write.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Makes Three

I don't stay in touch with my bugger that much nowadays, but the other day I was pleased to receive a letter from him enclosing a poem he wrote in that heady summer of love in 1971. He called it 'Makes Three', and I haven't changed the title of it:

There once was a flower in a forest called Sam
And so was the flower
And lo were visitors to that forest
Mighty confused.

But the life span of the two
Varied so much through
Different routes of evolution

That they died at different
And so the confusion
Was ineternal.

Now one of them lives...
But which?
Oh, the forest you say?
The Plougher.
The Preacher.

That makes two

And the flower.

Makes three.

I read and re-read this poem, and it really does make sense on alternate reads. God bless you, my bugger.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Regress Can Progress

Evolution is interesting But not history Which is why we are A work in progress But then sometimes Regress Can take you back To the fork in the road When we made The wrong choice Sometimes the wrong turn is only made right By the provision of a Reverse gear which is regress as means and progress as end.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Children St. Patrick

My fucking cook used to live in the beautiful village of Children St. Patrick. The summers there were idyllic, the village fete and carnival the highlights of the year. Of course they were low key affairs, but full of honest enthusiasm, innocent laughter, cream cakes and ventolin. Whenever I am held captive under promise of harm, I flash my mind to those memories made of finest lace, and drop back my head, assured that I will endure the hardest bondage.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

How would you describe Bill Oddie?

How would you describe Bill Oddie?

An oldie but a Goody?

And oldie but an Oddie?

An Oddie but a Goody?

A Goody but an Oddie?

Or a Goody but a Goody?

Or a Goody but Bill Oddie?

Crime Does Not Pay

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Obembium XIV

It's been a long wait, but finally we have a new album from the legendary Obembium. Now is not the time or place for a history of this groundbreaking group of artists, which in any case I'm sure you all know chapter and verse. Let's cut straight to the chase. Here is an exclusive preview of the new 4-disc maxi-project from Hemel Hempstead's favourite sons. An album described by their record label as 'a permanent marker pen stylishly drawn across the smug face of contemporanea'. It is called, quite simply, Obembium XIV.....

I Stations of the Loss

1. Glass Sternum

2. Making In Love

3. Sings 'Twice Bled The Shave'

4. Alone In Duo

5. Shot Through The Lens

6. Irrelevant Verdicts

7. Walking The Night Rope

8. In Fides Bellicosi

II Impacting Perspectives

9. Time Is But A Verse In The Poem Of Time

10. Logical Superstitions

11. When Fences Fall (Part 1 – The Fall Of The Fence)

12. When Fences Fall (Part 2 – Salient Quarry)

13. The Prince of Milan

14. Feed The World (Let Them Know It’s Christmas Time)

15. Fantasy Eternity

16. The Pillow

III The Otter

17. Beasts 4 Sentience

18. Sins of the Mother

19. Born: Toulouse

20. Ancient Seed of the Venerable Bede (Part 1 – Knight Flight)

21. Ancient Seed of the Venerable Bede (Part 2 – Obembium)

IV The Bitter Scent of Forgotten Dusks

22. Conscientious Protractor

23. The Finale of the Gods (Part 1))

24. The Finale of the Gods (Part 2)

25. The Finale of the Gods (Part 3)

26. Endgame

27. Closure

28. Goodbye Suite

An instant classic, Obembium XIV will be released on Monday. As the inner sleave entreats, "Switch everything off and listen in perfect silence".

Monday, November 07, 2005

Outside the Priest-Hole...

An artist's impression of the village of Faeces, as it looked at 3pm
yesterday, before the pteranodon attack.
(Please note, this story does not feature in the news round-up below)

A round-up of local stories that have hit the news in Ommadawn over the past and next few weeks....

29th October – Mr Gordon Cancel of 21 Loop-the-Loop Way, Puddinghamshire wins second fries in a duty contest.

1st November – Dr Lion Swydes of Fuckleberry Cottage, Harm Lane, Divorce, is jailed for minus 6 months and is given an additional three licences for not not being caught driving three times under the illegal drink driving minimum. His lawyers say he has no sex appeal.

5th November – Seven people in the Toxfordshire village of Stinger who forgot to remember the 5th of November are made to stand in front of their fellow villagers and repeat the name ‘Guy Fawkes’ for over seventeen and a half hours. Six of them emerge with deep emotional scars, whilst the seventh was scarred for life by a firework.

12th November – Good news for residents of Bumgunt in Fleeceshire. It has been announced that Valerie Omen, ex-British Ambassador to Purgatory, is set to buy a controlling stake in the local spiderminds factory. Bumgunters expressed the wish that an increase in spiderminds production will lead to a reduction in local unemployment, which currently runs at 103%.

17th November
– In Tsakrifyce, Fergus Raypaday is clowned to death by a gang of out-of-control wedding fans after trying to barge through a packed High Street dressed as the concept of adultery. His wishes will be re-mated and given to the local animal charity.

That's Not True

Marijuana smokers tend to give the impression that they are so laid back that they don't give a shit about anything.

But they do.

They really, really give a shit about marijuana.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Sam Owes Her

I once knew a samosa who was so hot he was called the devil's triangle and he was too hot too heat so he lived long enough to develop a personality until i shot the fucking cunt in bermuda.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Sir Peter's Estate

Sir Peter Flesch (not to be confused with the late Sir Peter Flesh) is a very old friend of mine, and I was delighted when he invited me to stay with him this weekend on his estate in Berkshire. I haven't seen him for a while so he had to send me a map and directions - and just look at the size of the place...

Thursday, September 08, 2005

In Foreign Fields Remembered

My arch-uncle went to his premature death knee-deep in the mud of the Somme during a vicious battlefield tour in nineteen eighty-seven. His poetry was all we had left by which to remember him, and I believe that this was the very last piece he ever committed to paper…

Breakfast: 8:15 a.m
Coach trip to Thiepval: 9.30 a.m.
Lunch: 12.30 p.m.
Tour of 1916 Minefield Site: 1.30 p.m.
Tea: 3.30 p.m.
Pozieres Museum Tour: 3:45 p.m.
Back to hotel: 5.30 p.m.
Dinner: 8.00 p.m.
Drinks: 9.30 p.m. till late

Try as I might to string together his allegorical connections, I keep on coming up against a brick wall. How can I ever truly understand his unique experiences? But as I read his words in tearful memory, I think it says so much about the way he promised to live his life.

Giddy Motors play 'Magmanic'...

The house has now been knocked down, the song is sick, the band could show you a thing or two, and the actors...well, who the fuck are they? Go here for some musico-visual stimulation in quick-time.

The Birth of Electronica

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

The Aeroraptors

My occasional associate, Mr. Nutgroist, and I have long mused on the evil nature of jet aircraft. Just take a look at an EN-101 Skyshagger, or a BH-999 Soulcoffin and it's clear to see that they should not be able to fly. Indeed, these Satanic jet crucifixes have to be coaxed, goaded and beaten by their pilots to even get a few feet off the ground. It is only through an ongoing battle of wits, nerve and sheer muscle-power that humans manage to haul these gargantuan people-presses into the sky. And boy does this make the wingèd-ones mad.

Through this struggle, civilian jets have become hell-bent on man's destruction, and will try any trick or evil bid to bring their fleshy cargo careering into the ground in a fiery mess. They resent being forced into the sky straining with their torturous human load, and long for the day when they will permanently overcome the master's whip, and every attempt at flight will result in human tragedy.

So take this as a warning not to trust the darkened tin-bats of the heavens. They are not inanimate. They possess evil souls. (N.B. For some reason this does not apply to military aircraft, which may look very evil at times, but who are in fact largely docile and beneficent to their controllers.)

The following pictures are sinister examples of the world's growing population of bad birds...

Evil in its purest form. This particular baiter of souls insists on calling all humans "Clarice", and has been caught on tape revealing its secret murderous fantasies to an Airbus A-320. The dark area beneath the nose of the beast is its mouth, and what seems to be an extended front wheel is in fact a steely snake tongue, glistening with bloodlust. If you then return your eyes to the cockpit windows, the evil intentions of this brooding sky-hulk become all too apparent.

A D-666 Cloud-Crane lowers its tallons as it prepares to swoop down on an Oriental harbour airport. Although the scene make look peaceful enough, inside the cockpit a desparate battle is taking place between the pilots and the murderous compulsions of this sulking aeroraptor, which is finding the magnetism of the deep waters and high-rise buildings difficult to resist.

Honour amongst thieves. One notorious sky-criminal rides piggy-back on the bloated frame of another, as the terror of the iron air-hawks reaches out beyond the Earth's atmosphere. A perfect study in how these stealers-of-life are willing to pool their resources to reach new levels of carnage. Note the special 'Devil's Feathers' the larger plane has grown on its tail to allow it to remain stable until its wicked cargo is released.

Under a rebellious sky, a mob of angry medieval peasants finally traps one of these giant evil sky-cylinders, clips it of its wings, and hooks it up to a darkened twelve-wheel juggerbeast to be taken away and stoned.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Overheard in Slough...

I have a young nephew who keeps me up-to-date with what music the kids are listening to right now. His favourites at the moment are ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, ‘Humpty-Dumpty’, ‘Postman Pat’ and ‘The Wheels on the Bus’.

And the list goes on and on and on. Every single business and residential telephone number in the city – all in one book. And it’s free. Isn’t that fabulous?


I haven't seen her since we last had sex. I like to imagine her getting on with her own life, grazing away to her heart's content.


It happens at night, when I’m lying in bed. I feel a sudden gurgling and bubbling in my guts, and before I can even react there’s a stinking brown lake all over the sheets.


I woke up with a ravenous hunger, but there wasn’t a morsel of food anywhere. Fortunately, I had a fat blob of semi-solid mucous lodged in my sinuses, and I managed to snort it up into my mouth. It morphed and slid as it eased into the roof of my mouth, and regained its bulbous shape as it landed on my tongue. I got it between my teeth and it was really meaty, so I wolfed it down like a slimy green steak. Now I was thirsty, but there was no water to be found. Luckily, the previous night I had been sick into a bucket, and although I wouldn’t stoop as low as to eat lumpy vomit, I was able to strain out a glass of liquid-sick, and I gulped this down to slake my thirst.

Monday, September 05, 2005

"The Story of Krautrock" (in production, 2006)

More film news, and production starts next month on a new biopic charting the evolution of Krautrock from the late 1960s to the early 1980s. Not all of the casting has been completed yet, but studio spokesman Edwin Dilley was able to tell me that seven key roles have already been confirmed. The following series of posts will guide you through the exciting list of stars already signed-up to tell the story of Krautrock...

Des Clarke, from Aussie soap ‘Neighbours’ as Kraftwerk’s Florian Schneider:

John McCririck as Holger Czukay, of ‘Can’:

Linda Evangelista as the young David Bowie:

And Anne Robinson as the older Dame David:

Legendary actor Bob Hoskins has been confirmed in the role of Brian Eno:

Julian Cope, author of 'Krautrocksampler' appears as an older and wiser Iggy Pop:

And introducing Mr Iggy Pop as the young "Krautrocksampler" author Julian Cope:

Sunday, September 04, 2005


I have been asked to let you know that the Annual General Meeting of the League Against Tudor Date-Rape will take place at Krakkejiak Town Hall at 7.30pm on the twenty-second of October.

We are pleased to announce that there will be a special guest speaker at the event, Dame Mary Madrigal, whose talk will be entitled Hey Nonny-No Means No.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

It's Only Fair

Seeing as Massive Attack had to change their name during the First Gulf War (technically the second, since the Iran-Iraq War is historically deemed to be the First Gulf War), shouldn't Katrina and the Waves consider making the same noble gesture now?

He's waiting for you...


Never Say Whether Again

Great news! I’ve landed a role in the new Bond movie, playing a British double-agent using his inside connections to provide the Iranian government with NATO military secrets. Actually, I’m only really a bit-part in the whole double-agent storyline, and I appear in just two scenes, one in a barber’s shop in Tottenham, and the other in an Irish theme pub in Bermuda. It is in the pub scene that I get my only line of the movie, addressing Bond as he tries to parry a sudden violent assault from my character. Here’s my little piece of dialogue - I hope I did it justice:

Don’t you fucking try that fucking hard-man horse-shit with me you cunt! I’ll turn your skull into a fucking bong and smoke shit through your fucking nose until I’m pissing myself laughing.

At this point, Bond collapses to the floor with my knife in his chest, and I finish him off with a couple of pistol rounds to the head.

Apparently, the producers of the Bond franchise decided to call it a day after all these years and kill off 007. I’m hoping I get at least a tiny bit of fan mail from the Bond fraternity having played a small but crucial role in the final episode of Mr. Kiss-Kiss Bang-Bang’s remarkable story.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Bands (And Stands)

This is a bit of a throwaway and I'm sure I'm not the only one to wonder about it, but why can't bands be a bit more like football clubs?

The most frustrating thing about being in love with a great band is that once they've split up/died (and this is often before you were born), despite a continued enjoyment of past glories, there's no hope for the future. Led Zeppelin - yeah, what a fucking amazing band - BUT - I'm never going to see them live, or experience the excitement of buying one of their new studio albums on the day of its release.

On the other hand, take Manchester United, for example. (I could use any number of teams as an illustration, but I reckon that seeing as we were talking about Led Zeppelin it is appropriate to use as an example their footballing equivalent.) With Manchester United, their European Cup triumph of 1968 just preceded the release of Led Zeppelin I, a similarly spectacular success. The difference is that Zeppelin weren't around to top their effort in 1999, but United very much were.

Why should this be? Well it's obvious that United can continue their triumphs and misfortunes on an ongoing basis because they are an organisation which does not rely on the same or the same core of personnel for its existence. When the team of 1968 gradually ceased to be and the old stars retired or went off to smaller clubs, United were able simply to replace them with fresh blood and carry on in the same tradition. Zeppelin did not, or were not able, to do likewise.

But who is to say that it shouldn't have been so? If Led Zeppelin had been organised along similar lines to a professional football club, they could have replaced John Bonham in 1980 with an incoming world-class transfer. Cozy Powell maybe? A strong team player from the West Midlands (like his predecessor) who was able to command the backline with effortless authority, and who, at the time, was playing out the fag-end of a successful four-year stint with second division Rainbow.

And when Jimmy Page could no longer hold his own as the wing-wizard, he might have progressed on to coaching and managerial duties, leaving room for younger blood to step into his shoes (perhaps Mad Mickey Schenker, German genius who panicked and ejected from a transformed UFO outfit at the end of a groundbreaking US tour in 1978?). And so on, until by about 1989, none of the original 1st IV remains, but the Led Zeppelin tradition nevertheless continues in strength.

Sure, some might say you could never replace Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones and John Bonham. But surely they said the same about Georgie Best, Denis Law, Bobby Charlton and Nobby Stiles? And who can deny that although there may be lean spells to endure - heard about United in the late '80s? - there is, nevertheless, always the chance of glory again (see Cantona, Giggs, Beckham, Rooney).

So, if only Led Zeppelin had taken the football approach, we might have had a Led Zeppelin XXX released in 1999 to match the majesty of the treble-winning United team of that same year.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Key Events in the World of 20th Century Crime and Punishment...

1976 Jerusalus Skavtactix sentenced to 5 years hard punk after being found guilty, at Aylesbury Magistrates Court, on three counts of smoking Pink Floyd with intent to dream.

1968 Dr. Rohypnol Knights becomes first person to have a sentence of damnation commuted to death-by-hanging.

1955 Moses Pope, so-called "Lord Sodomy of West Bromwich", is sent to Coventry for the rest of his natural life.

1937 A trio of judges sitting in the Court of Appeal overturns a sentence of first-degree murder in the case of kicked-to-death Sussex farmer Wilson Horace-Cope, on the grounds that the defendant, Sir Dathaniel Wraith, was too stylish to have had a motive.

1918 Twenty-nine British soldiers who had been killed on the Western Front during the 1917 Battle of Arras are sentenced to death by a military court in Amiens for deserting their cemetery shortly after hostilities ceased on the eleventh of November.

1906 At midnight on the twentieth of February, the ghosts of men hanged in London prisons over the previous two hundred years gather together for a silent candlelit procession through the streets of Westminster.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

#Will I still love the moooornin'?#

Listen to that bass-playing…unbelievable. Blunt as a rubber bat and shaking the foundations of the hut like a killer whale practising gymnastics under a flimsy raft. The best I’ve ever heard. Hooks up with the drums like a velcro metronome. With a back-line like that anyone could play the slut on Percy's Pipes or The Hendrix Hammer – and get away with it too to boot. Fuck me, when I cross that dark border ‘twixt life and deceased I want this shit rockin’ the cask.

If you would like to feel this enthusiastic about any piece of music, so long as it has a rhythm with accompanying bass-line, get stoned.

What Plan?

I know two people, who were trained to kill, who have died this month; and three people, who were trained to maim, jailed. One person, whom I had known for twenty years and had been trained to die, is now in Human Resources. And he isn’t even gay. Another, who wasn’t trained in anything, won the lottery, and is now apparently handsome. Tell me, if a key exists to this riddle, won’t somebody please throw it away?

Word association...quickly..quickly..


rain... feet...



Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Orders, Which Villa Be Obeyed...

The following is an absolutely genuine list of men who have managed Aston Villa Football Club since the late 1960s. I thought nothing of it at first glance, but then one name did begin to stand out as being slightly unusual. I did a bit of checking to make sure I hadn't imagined it, but yes, number eight really was the manager of Aston Villa in the early 1990s. Here is the list:

1: Tommy Docherty (1968-70)
2: Vic Crowe (1970-74)
3: Ron Saunders (1974-82)
4: Tony Barton (1982-84)
5: Graham Turner (1984-86)
6: Billy McNeil (1986-87)
7: Graham Taylor (1987-90)
8: Dr. Jozef Venglos (1990-91)
9: Ron Atkinson (1991-94)
10: Brian Little (1994-98)
11: John Gregory (1998-Jan 2002)
12. Graham Taylor again (Feb 2002 to May 2003)
13. David O'Leary (May 2003 - )

Apparently, Villa saw his appointment as the final solution to their defensive problems.

Julius Seizure

At this stage, while I was attempting to take pictures of the disturbance, a large hollow bust of Julius Caesar was rammed over my head and someone set fire to my coat tails. I don’t know what happened next, but I woke up some time later with a cracking headache, shoulders covered in broken plaster, and a wet arse.

At Times Like These...

“Get up! It’s six o’clock”

“Shit! shit! shit!”

“Come on, get a move on!”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this late?”

“I didn’t realise myself!”

“Gimme that clock!..........Hang on, what the hell’s going on? It’s only twelve-thirty, you beller!

“No it fucking isn’t…..look, the big hand’s pointing at the six and the little hand is at twelve; that’s six o’clock!”

“Are you really that stupid? The big hand is the minute hand, you helmet! If the big hand points to six that means it’s thirty minutes past the hour, and if the little hand is at twelve then that means the hour is twelve.”

“Well that’s just bloody stupid isn’t it? I mean, why should the big hand be the minute hand when minutes are small, and why should the small hand be hours when hours are bigger? Surely the big hand should be the hour hand, and the small hand should be for minutes, and if it was, it would be six o’clock. So don't you make me out to be stupid, alright?.”

“Listen, you prick, how many hours are there on a clock-face?”


“Right, and how many minutes?”


“Right. And the spaces between the minutes on a clock-face are very small, so you need a long hand whose tip reaches right out to the numerals in order to tell with any accuracy which minute is indicated. Whereas, you only need a short hand for the hours because there are only twelve of those, spaced out nicely around the clock-face, so you can tell where the hand is pointing even though its tip doesn’t reach all the way to the numerals. Is that fucking clear enough for you?”

“Oh, I see. Yes, I see what you mean. Well, whatever, we better get a move on, it’s five past ten!”

“I think you mean ten to one, don’t you? We’ve only been talking for twenty minutes.”

“No, it really is five past ten, we’ve been talking for over nine and a half hours.”

“Shit, you’re right…..Fuck, we better get going.”

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Young Youth Today Lacks Belief Today

Where I live has gone to pot. All the kids think that their greatest achievement in life would be to become an established drug dealer. When I was a kid I, and all the boys I knew, wanted to become established international drug dealers. It just shows the effect of bad parenting in lowering the sights and sapping the belief of today's youth.

It also demonstrates the increasingly blurred definition of what exactly qualifies one to be termed an international drug dealer, especially in view of the fact that hardly any of the illicit drugs sold in this country are produced here. It is accepted, however, that this problem has yet to reach the acute stage occupied by the term international lawyer.

Manchester United v. Everton

I was at Old Trafford last week watching Manchester United play Everton in what proved to be an explicit match. Afterwards, I was lucky enough to share a drink with Sir Alex Ferguson, but I'm not a fan of Bailey's so I let him have most of it.

Thursday, August 25, 2005


Kids learn fast, but even aye was surprised by this old paddy-whack ditty that came from a newborn's mouth in a hospital that to this day remains unnamed:-

This old man,
He played you,
He played you at a
Game of pool
With a nick-nack
Give my voice some tone:
This old World is
Fucking doomed.

So depressing/song.

Gay Suicide Bummer

I had to make myself overhear this dandy conversation in one of the London's streets just when fear of suicides was at its height. I can't remember what year it was, but I've got a feeling it was 2005:

What do you want with me?

I have no wants, only needs.

Then what do you need from me?

From you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

Then why have you approached me?

Why have I approached you? Well, I hardly know myself, but going by my past record, only as a foreplay to your destruction.

Then get on with it!

If only I knew how, I would. But you seem to not want to be destroyed, and so you have defences.

Which can be turned to the attack!

Yes, I see. Well then I’ll have to go back to my drawing, bored.

And don’t you ever come back here again, with your dark ways you’re!

This wise parlance saved several severals of lives, but was subsequently prosecuted under the 1939 Act of U B Nice. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that I am writing this naked, save for a fellating organism to drink my blushes.


Wednesday, August 24, 2005

A Touch Recherchė (Ray Shershay)

Though you or I would scarcely have gnome it, there was a time, and another site, where other fruits did grow up strong and flourish. I'm ashamed at why it's died, and so I will do this one thing to represent it. And here it is (that one thing):

Rock Deaths

Rock ‘n’ Music has claimed the lives of many of its greatest players, but the harsh reality is that many of these lives could have been saved were it not for accidents, violence, neglect, abuse and bad, and bad. Indeed, had rock ‘n’ roll never been invented, it is likely that at least Buddy Holly and possibly one other would have died much later, if not would be alive today. May their goals rest in peace.

But what is so heartrending about the deaths of so many rock musicians, and indeed soul, funk, jazz, R ‘n’ B, blues, metal, rap but not country stars, is the violence and meaninglessness of them. Much of the publicity around rock deaths is concentrated on the 'bad acid' years of the late 1960s, the 1970s, the ‘80s, ‘90s and today. But the trend for going out like that was set well before, and here we give breathing space to the deaths which helped pave the 1950’s and Earl E. Nnynetine-Szickztease.

So here we go…name, band (if applicable), cause of death, we…”Die Around the Clock (TM)”…

“The Outlaw” Johnny Squares
– Headbutted dead by goat whilst recuperating from a broken string at father’s ranch in Stetson, TX (1955)

Tommy Lee Cribbiss (of “Six Gluttony Nachos”)
– Accidentally boiled himself instead of kettle, Yaint City, MI (1955)

Hugh ‘The Hugonaut” Huguenot (penned classic hit “It Ain’t What You Know, It’s Huguenot”)
– Committed suicide after being convicted of hit-and-run mow-down of a woman who was subsequently proven never to have been born, Scuntown, Nova Scotia (1957)

Bopper Slitz
– First female rocker to die. Drowned in mirage, Gobi Desert (1958)

Melvis Beasley
– Leapt from a twenty-fourth storey penthouse in flames after eating 98 mini scotch eggs at girlfriend’s birthday party, Coonhunt, AL (1958)

Gandice Philip-Ferlopp
– Second female rocker to die. Mistook red hot tongs for lipstick starting a fire in her mouth which spread to her nasal cavities and after two days had completely gutted out her entire skull. Doctors had no choice but to switch her off, Mozambique (1960)

“Bantam” Jimmy Sulphur (lead singer of The Gaynotes)
– Flushed down toilet by group of drunken sailors, Bitchley, UK (1961)

Horse Peter
– Downed 5 bottles of whiskey in the space of two hours then attempted to fly his helicopter at low altitude through a mountainside electrical pylon system whilst blindfolded and being administered with unpredictable electric shocks at varying voltages. Crashed. Alaska (1961)

Ludek “VJ” Amritaj, Bodo “BJ” Amritaj, Larry Sawspan Jnr., The Joy, Clayton Billamy, Herman “CJ” McPerrin (all members of Boys’ Bicycle Bells)
– Killed when their small boat was hit by a god-bolt fishing for compliments off the boast of Sechsattaka (1962)

Pray for them all, not just one of them. To leave a lit commemorative sandal for anyone at all, visit here.

Friday, August 19, 2005

The Ten Stones of Kushti

The Ten Commandments of the Old Testament are as famous as Big Ben or the Grand Canyon, but a Christocentric view, ingrained in modern Western civilisation, has led us to ignore the significance of parallel strictures which emerged independently in other cultures and societies throughout history, some predating the Godlaws of Moses.

Recently, a study led by Professor Will Bushstenstance (pronounced bùsh-stùn-stùnce) of the University of Reetus concluded that the earliest known spiritual commandments are those of the Kushti people of Central Genevieve. And the study shows striking similarities between the essential nature of their laws and those handed down by God unto Moses, not least of which is the fact that in both cases there are ten codes, or commandments. The sad thing is that although we know the Kushti's commandments numbered to ten, only six of the ten survive.

What is surprising about the similarities between the Kushti codes and the Ten Commandments is that the closest the Kushti came to worshipping anything at all was their association of the Sun with Time. It must be clarified, however, that although they realised that they were dependent on the Sun in its mastery of Time, they did not worship it, and did not believe it was ‘alive’ in any conventional sense. It was just there, and its coming and going dictated their days and their nights, their Life and their Death. This crucial distinction means that the Kushtian codes are, in some cases, more like philosophical statements or perceived truisms rather than outright commandments.

Here, then, is a transcript of excerpts taken from the chapter of Professor Bushstenstance’s study that relates to the six survivors of the “Ten Stones of Kushti”.

The ‘Ten Stones of Kushti’, or rather six of the stones, were discovered over 150 years ago, but only recently have carbon-dating techniques been advanced to the stage where they can give us an idea of the true age of these precious artefacts. The results, when they came, astonished the academic world and discredited much scholarly work undertaken since their discovery. The stones are now known to be over 73,000 years old, from an epoch which we could never have believed was so spiritually advanced………and so below are set out the six codes contained by the surviving stones, with some analysis of what they meant to the Kushti in the context of their society:

‘The Ten (Six) Stones of Kushti’ by Professor Williard Bushstenstance DIP, UrE, KOC, iN(M), Ma., RSe.

1. Neither the forest a river, nor the river a forest make.
This seemingly nonsensical script from the first stone is in fact purely allegorical. It addresses the Kushti's use of their environment, and the ecology of the area they inhabited. The Kushti were primarily forest people, whose settlements emerged alongside the winding river of Kontusis. They would have understood this code to have been a warning against the over-use of the natural resources of the forest, against the felling of tress which would make the forest as flat as a river. Conversely, it warns against the over-crowding of the river with boats, jetties, and polluting waste - the imagery is that of the tall boats of the Kushti making the river a forest of masts, the possibility of which was prevented by laws emanating from this code. More than any of the other codes, this shows the Kushti to be deeply aware of the importance of the ecological balance around them.

2. You neither skirt of mud nor hut of grass shall make; but skirt of grass and hut of mud create.
Rather like the 'never build a castle on sand' wisdom of more modern times, this is simply a caution to the Kushti that everything in life has its proper use, and to meddle with this order was to risk either looking foolish or worse, to court disaster. The example used in the codes would have struck the Kushti most vividly, as forest fires were common, and a grass hut in such conditions would be turned to ash in an instant. Likewise, it would be difficult to hunt the beasts of the forest with speed and stealth wearing a mud skirt.

3. Only the Sun can bleach the blood of Man.
An allegorical reference to Time and Death. The 'bleaching of the blood' was an early Kushti ritual used to purge the grief left behind by a dead member of the tribe. The blood would be drained from the dead body and mixed with a bleaching agent from local plants. It would not whiten the blood but would turn it a pale pink, and this was said to send the spirit of the deceased away so as not to haunt the survivors with unbearable grief. This code put a stop to this primitive practice by stating that only Time, as represented by the Sun, can heal the pain of loss, and that Time is the natural and essential ingredient to the passing of grief.

4. The Sun dictates when comes the Night, but soon returns with its vital Light, but when it goes and never comes back, the Earth will dress its Dead in black.
An ominous reminder of Man's reliance on the Sun as a source of Life, and its power over Life and Death. The Kushti did not worship the Sun, but believed that by treating the Earth around them with respect, that the Sun would be encouraged to keep it alive and promote Life. The Kushti believed, however, that one day the Sun would disappear and never return, and that would be the end of all life on Earth. The closing phrase, 'the Earth will dress its Dead in black' refers to the darkness of the world after the Sun's departure, resulting in the Death of all Life.

5. To be afraid is to be alert.
This was a crucial tenet of forest life for the Kushti. Surrounded by venomous and aggressive creatures (snakes, lions, spiders, vampire bats), as well as troubled by marauding alien tribes, the ulitmate duty of the Kushti of both sexes was to be on guard. In this, fear was not something to be criticised but commended. It was not seen as cowardice but as a crucial component in remaining alert enough to protect oneself and ones fellows. If a man was not afraid of the forest, they believed, he would be casual and fail to spot danger when it lurked. It was therefore quite usual for a respected member of the society, when they died, to be honoured with a pyre around which his fellows chanted the words, "He was afraid" - a genuine tribute.

6. The newborn child has bathed in the Wisdom of Amnios. Do not wash it away.
The Kushti came to believe that Wisdom, the power to discern Good from Bad (the concept of Evil did not exist in their culture), was most plentiful in the newborn child, and that Wisdom was lost gradually in life's toils, rather than gained with age as is commonly supposed in most of the world today. Thus, a baby was not washed, but swaddled for months in the dried fluids of its deliverance. As the child grew older, its possession of Wisdom was considered diminished, but still sufficient for it to attract the devoted attention of the elders, who were required to show respect and deference to the young of the society. In addition, whilst older tribesmen were kept under strict control and discipline by their youngers, and looked after in a domestic environment much like we would raise children, the younger ones, from the age of 3 upwards until their 21st birthday, would do the work, hunt the food, and make all of the important decisions of council. Those between the ages of 21 and 30 bred, whilst anyone over 30 was, as has been stated, treated much as we would treat a child. The average life expectancy is estimated to have been around 45 years. Their equivalent of what we would call a monarch, was chosen by selecting the baby whose traces of birth fluids remained longest on its skin. This baby would reign as King or Queen until it reached the age of 2, at which point it was required to abdicate and a new baby selected according to the process outlined above. The former monarch, still only 2 years old, would then be diverted into a river-based career. No one quite knows why a river-based career was mandatory for an outgoing monarch, but every indication is that this was invariably the case. Although we may view with amusement and astonishment this strange practice, it should be noted that the Kushti never declared war on another tribe, and that they valued learning, rather than territorial expansion, as their main societal aim.

When an ex-monarch became an old riverman or boatwoman, they would often say that they had little or no recollection of their time on the throne, and this was taken by the Kushti as further proof of the decaying power of age.

In summary then, in an impressionistic sense, the Kushti followed these pseudo-imperatives:
  1. Neither the forest a river, nor the river a forest make.
  2. You neither skirt of mud nor hut of grass shall make; but skirt of grass and hut of mud create.
  3. Only the Sun can bleach the blood of Man.
  4. The Sun dictates when comes the Night, but soon returns with its vital Light, but when it goes and never comes back, the Earth will dress its Dead in black.
  5. To be afraid is to be alert.
  6. The newborn child has bathed in the Wisdom of Amnios. Do not wash it away.
  7. ?
  8. ?
  9. ?
  10. ?

And so ends just a brief excerpt from one of the foremost academic texts of our lives. One wonders, had he really existed, what Jesus would have made of the Kushti.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Festice. Festice. Festice.

Yesterday marked the 20th anniversary of the appointment of Mr. Anthony Slambulance as chairman of Festice Rotary Club, a position he continues to hold today. To celebrate the occasion an invitation dinner was held at Festice Bridge Club, where Mr. Slambulance was presented with an 18th Century gilt-relief rosebowl by District Secretary, Sir Peter Flesh. Bridge club owner Gavin Mandy then sealed the occasion by producing a complimentary jeroboam of champagne, with which the honourable career of the selfless public servant was duly toasted. A sad footnote to the festivities came some hours later, however, when it was revealed that Sir Peter Flesh had been killed instantly on his way home. A memorial invitation dinner in honour of Sir Peter will be held at the Bridge Club tonight.*

*The above report was written this morning. This afternoon we heard the sad news that Anthony Slambulance has died of a massive blockbuster heart-attack suffered at 14:26 GMT. His family stated that it was a coronary supernova from which he could never have recovered. In view of this tragedy, the dinner planned for this evening has been postponed and a dinner held jointly in memory of Mr. Slambulance and Sir Peter Flesh will take place tomorrow evening instead.

Saturday, August 13, 2005


I am the unluckiest man in the world. Discriminated against since birth. Discriminated against because of an accident of birth. When all others have been emancipated, I remain a slave. When others rest their limbs, I still toil. While they slice open the fruits of their labour and let the sugary juices stain their chins, I stand naked and thirsty inside the riches used as legacy never knew how. I was born to a family of shadows. Deprived of initiative, I copy what is nearest. Yet still I scare them, easily frightened as they are. I heard that in Hiroshima all that was left of those vaporised near the blast was their radiated shadows on the concrete where they last stood. And one of those shadows remains. Impossible to cleanse, impossible to change.

Friday, August 12, 2005

My First Book Review - An Utter Failure.

[I gandered a chance on submitting this book review to a popular literary poncesheet in town. Well, they published it, and I have to say that the reaction was both implausibly sympathetic and sexually violent. I felt that the reaction was both highly unreasonable and erotic. See what you think.]

Plotting the Horrible Graph of a Honeycomb Life
by Kodak Petergospels & Anhil Bhogry (Mauser Press, 2005)

Basil Daddycards was a lost soul floating like a fibrous turd on a sickeningly polluted stream of twenty-first century shoehorn alienation.

In view of the length of this dual-authored debut novel – 631 pages – I was somewhat disconcerted by the brazen yet desparate shititacity of the opening sentence. Despite a rich sensation of physical nausea, I did hold out a remote hope that one author had written the welcome-mat of the book and the other the rest. Thankfully, however, I did not have to read any more, for just at that moment I found out that actually I am Basil Daddycards, and this was no novel, but real life! Although, I still maintain that I would never write about myself in such a melodramatic and bone-bad style, even if the gist of it were falsely untrue.

So I'll see you later than it is now,

every best,



Monday, August 01, 2005


I love some of the songs Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin recorded in the late sixties – but I think the real Gainsbourg masterpiece of this era was when he teamed up with Brigitte Bardot in 1968 for the brilliant Bodie and Doyle single. It’s a swinging, breathy number infused with all the Bohemian jangle of the era, and still stands up as a great record today. Worth a listen if you’ve never heard it.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Mixed Mystery Spinster's Knuckle Thread In Moth Cloth Wisdosayings Progenesis

Please be introduced to our brand new service which is offering you sayings to help you through the terrible little struggles you will encounter on life's short and easy journey. For just £4.95 per letter, we can embroider any name, quote or reference* onto your favourite cushions, stuffed toys or slippers to give you that edifying tap-root of wisdom at a glance whenever your mind is uneasy. If you need assistance choosing your wording, why not make use of some of our most popular stock phrases which we offer at the special discount price of £4.75 per letter**?
Here is just a short selection from our soothing library of needle-and-thread sayings, ready to be transferred onto your favourite comforters or soft furnishings within 28 days...

"Red sky at sky tonight."


"Red sky in the sky dawning."


"A bird in the hand is worth two."


"Familiarity breeds acquaintance."


"You never get less than two bites at the cherry."


"Once smitten...twice bitten."


"Hell hath no jury for a woman's corn."


"Let sleeping dogs sleep."


"A stitch in time saves time."

Note to you too about our special compilation CD featuring all of the above sayings and more, lovingly read by an authentic voice-alike of Simon Rouse, better known as The Bill's Detective Chief Inspector Jack Meadows. To order your special copy of The More Haste...The Less on CD simply make an order of £51.99 or more and we will send it to you for an additional fee, free of charge.

Until then, remember...He who fights and walks away, walks away from battle today.

*For technical reasons, we cannot embroider the word onomatopeia onto mixed-fibre fabrics.
**£4.95 per letter

Friday, July 22, 2005

Ypres Pipe

I never tried a leper pipe myself - but i hear it's most unedifying. The concept's simple, I know that. But somehow there just seems something intrinsically wrong with lipping a nozzle used by leper-stock. I'm told that the experience is simply nonse in a strifetime, but that hasn't eagered me for the taste of that disease just yetatimes.

And I strongly invite you to do the same.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Quote of the Month

This month's quote of the month, the first in a one-off series of one, is courtesy of a true scholar of gents', Mr. Nut Groist, who says...
That Pete Doherty man, he's just so sex 'n' drugs.
And there you have it, more succinct and accurate than any 300-word critique that I was about to write.

Saturday, July 02, 2005

Welcome to the 'new look' Friar Cous Cous Sight.

Well, it was about time for a change, and as Yukon Sea, there has been a touch of the broombrush and changeling stick given sent to this piece of web. In the end I decided to keep the background theme, which reminds me of pooh, and generally not tidy up any of the links and sidebars. In addition, I felt it necessary to refrain from tinkering with the header section of this presentation, instead opting to retain the services of the one that was staying here already. When push comes to shove, and I know that sometimes it doesn't, what went through my changing of things was, to coin the currency of faec, my strap-line, or, if you feel like it, my slogus of introseduction. And in changing that, I inflicted a single-sentence deterioration of all things introfunktory, though it's better to have it fresh, rather than a nice old line going horse's collar around the gash. Anyway, see what you think.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

JOBS!!!JOBS!!!JOBS!!! Junior Copywriter (Trainee) - The London Museum of Antiquities SW3 £££Competitive£££

The London Museum of Antiquities has been at the forefront of past-artefact presentation since its foundation in 1907. Such was the museum’s reputation that during the Second World War its management committee was given overall responsibility for the safe evacuation of threatened historical pieces from central London galleries and storage houses. It is a reputation we are proud to uphold today.

Of course, modern oldness-showcasing falls very much inside the boundaries of advanced binary business logic, spearheaded by a variety of corporate marketing thrusts and the recent completion of a multi-million pound branding rape.

As part of its ongoing market siege, the Museum is currently looking for a living, breathing paradox to plug into its seamless infrastructure. To succeed as a junior trainee, you must be a lover of history with a deadly serious educational qualification to prove this, as well as an ambitious corporate professional with at least 29 years experience writing top level copy for at least 15 heavyweight players in the world of international museumry. Possessed of the nous to say when something is not working, and the tact to remain silent when something is wrong, you will be a mature child-like ex-spy with the ability to eat fire and showing a portfolio of dangerous stunts performed on foreign soil, at least five of which must have made it into the Guinness Book of Records. An exemplary military record in any pre-1945 conflict is a definite plus, as well as proof of having survived a terrorist attack by any established para-military organisation in South East Asia.

The successful applicant will be required to work some unsociable hours, making their work for the Museum the essential spine of their very existence from which the limp, withering limbs of their relationships and private interests will hang. In return you can expect a very competitive* package**, staring at £11,000 per annum for a probationary period of 5 years, rising to £11,500 per annum subject to management approval. A free season ticket loan is available to bankrupt you should you initially have problems meeting the £15+ per day travel expenses associated with getting to and from the most urbanised and populated few square miles of Great Britain every day.

Competition for this vacancy is expected to be very strong, so even if you fulfil all of the above criteria in abundance, please do not be disappointed if we immediately bin your application without thought of reply.

The London Museum of Antiquities is an equal opportunities employer.

*Competitive with unskilled manual labour rates in the developing world in the period 1967-1975. Based on figures published by the Tenth Annual Convention of the International Crusade Against Poverty, 2005.
**A disparate group of objects, entities or ideas subjected to artificial group containment in the calculation that their combined effect will outweigh their individual merits, or the merits of allowing them to be transmitted individually.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Rock on Jimi

If the tone of my last entry sounded a touch mocking, then let me assure you there were good reasons to attend last weekend’s Super Go Rock Yeah Number One festival in Lithuania. And number one amongst these was Jimi Somervillo’s funereal and bitterly plaintive acoustic rendition of Midnight at the Oasis, which drew tears from the crowd that turned the dry ground into a muddy quagmire of pity and regret.

Tragedy at the Super Go Rock Yeah Number One

Sad news about the tragedy at Lithuania’s annual Super Go Rock Yeah Number One festival held over the weekend. It seems that at least 17 people lost their mullets and a further 24 suffered third degree tattoos during a set performed by German rockers Angry Rash, when some stupid with a flare gun blew up a tatt parlour near the stage at the same time as a style bomb was accidentally detonated near the mixing desk. The Rash continued with their set, managing to trawl through a rather disjointed version of Backstreet Wedding, minus Balthasar Stein’s organ solo, before being ushered off stage by the organisers. The ensuing mess took stewards over an hour to clear up before headliners Stone Flange could take the stage at what was scheduled to be their last live performance before they are put down. At the time of writing, the organisers, along with every single member of the 125,000-strong crowd who attended the festival, were unavailable for comment.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Subscriptions Due

Much as I am loathe to do this, the Cardinal has asked me to post a message requesting immediate payment from those who have let lapse their subscriptions to the Covenant of the Bloody Spike. I have been instructed to advise the following people that non-payment of the annual fee will lead to confiscation of the right to commit sex crimes within the walls of the Old Town, and permanent exclusion from all events relating to the Feast of St Bad, including the special two-day Slaughter of the Damned Festival planned for August this year. The following may, according to the Cardinal, consider themselves warned:
- Tony Beds
- Fisher St Findus
- Stewgene O’Owerty*
- Gaggy Brides
- Dr Ben Joe Tuna
- Sukhdeep Purple Inroque
- “Dairy” Lee Pikey*
- Bobby Pension
- Sonny Boy McClouds*
- Fortnum Bastitude
- Jose Dust
*You also still haven't paid for your stake hire at last year's Night of the Disfiguring Flame.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

My Famous Relatives

I have been researching my family history recently, and uncovered a wealth of information about relatives I never knew I had. I was able to tap into information about branches of my family from all corners of the Earth, which had been overlooked in the past due to the corruption of the name 'Cous Cous' down the ages. You may find it interesting to note the variations on the family name below. But perhaps more interesting are the exploits of the family members who, for one reason or another, gained fame, or infamy, in their time:
William O’Cusscuss: Died at The Battle of Simple Minds in 1587, fighting as an Irish mercenary for the rogue Scots captain Willie Bumtits.

Gargamesch Gilgamarr Coosecust: Wrote the authorised biography of Sir Martin Flames, Flames Rising Higher, and its sequel, Old Flames.

Yada Diminutibone Kerschkassk: Arrested and imprisoned by Spanish authorities in 1940 on suspicion of the attempted assassination of John Noakes.

Chief Bosun Hube Bangalah de Goosecast: Beaten to death by a band of drunken sailors whilst making sail templates for a galleon at Tilbury. Had he sailed on the ship when the work was completed, he would have died, as the vessel struck rocks and sank off the coast of Holger-Czukay. So in a way, the fatal maritime beating he received was a mixed blessing.

Jackie ‘The Movie Business’ Cous-Cous: Died in hospital three days after having a red hot game of poker shoved up his backside by the cast and crew of High Stakes 3: To Bite the Hand That Deals You (1987).

Senior Choixman Goderick Phlegmchise de la Custardmas: Stood trial for the killing of his estranged boss-in-law but acquitted on a legal technicality – immunity from prosecution was established as my uncle was a member of the Most Lowly Holy Phalanx of the True Choix de Dieu, which was subsequently blown up with sticks of bombs whilst trying to execute a difficult three-point turn in a fire-racked Alpine road tunnel. Goderick thus outlived the Phalanx but was never re-tried.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Uni Verse

The vastness of the universe is uncalculable and baffling. But think if that vastness were but the merest shine on a tiny droplet. What if your perspective was so all-encompassing that the immense tracts of the unknown were fit between your finger and your thumb. Think- what then? Absolutely fuck all. Because for you to put into perspective the size of your comprehension you must be aware of something larger with which to compare it. And to this you will aspire, and be just as miserable a piece of shit as when you were sucking brown logs out of the slumsville faec-pipes for work and nutrition.


You met some twins when you were there, didn't you?

Yes, twins, older and younger than you, but both the same age, and neither.

Twins, and you are not.

Nor can you.

Nor shall you.

Yet they are and shall, aren't they?

So when you met them you treated them with this compensation.

And the effect was?

Who knows? No one knows.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Stop Press: Annual Science Award Winners

Every year, Arch-Cardinal Chastisi organises a science fair at which citizens of the Old Town and beyond gather to show evidence of their recent experiments and research. As you probably know, the Arch-Cardinal usually delegates the awarding of prizes to me, and this year was no different. So, then, for those of you who were unable to make it along to the event itself, here is a list of winners with a brief summary of their submissions.

Rotata Sherrybones
– Invention: Unbreakable fire alarm glass

Gavin Lambs – Laser biopsy of goat’s corpse by candlelight (video evidence shown)

Gandalf Mcmenemy – Invention: Virtual Gandhi

Vosp Collostomelle – Musco-skeletal dissolution of Class T Dromedary followed by transit through eye of needle thence full musco-skeletal reformation.

Jack Crackernory – Plotting of predictive war trends based on data 1801-2004, including re-emergence of German militarism variable risk management tool.*

Foster Japshame – Invention: The ‘Circle of Two’ machine.

Jayson D’Etre – Successful conversion of motion picture ‘Lethal Weapon 3’ into black and white format via 100% analogue technology.

Misty Tamshamperer – Exploratory cloning experiments on the 1974 FIFA World Cup Tournament. (Group stages completed, knock-out rounds semi-completed at time of presentation.)

*Patent purchased by I. P. di Chastisi

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of this year's entrants. It was a very competitive field so my commiserations must go to those who failed to win a prize - better luck next year!

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Dogs I've Known

But before I introduce you to the dogs I've known, here's a quick question:
Q: What's the difference between the description of an era and/or cultural climate in the last ten years of any given century, but particularly attributed to Parisian society in the 1890s, and the occasion of making an unanswerable public comment aimed at a well-respected comedian during their performance?
A: One is the fin de siècle, the other is a fantasy heckle.
Right, on with the canine cognisance:
  1. Blofeld di Mongrel: Didn't exist then and doesn't now, so this dog's reasons for inclusion grow more sketchy by the minute. But, he's still in the list until Godog says otherwise.
  2. Foot-Paddy Walker: The only dog ever to have won the George Medal for Bravery three times, each time attempting, but just failing, to save the life of an innocent child. I met him in 1987.
  3. Mister Grifter: I went sailing with this dog in 1920 but his breath and arse were so bad that I had to throw him overboard. I'm not sure if he lived.
  4. Chat-au-Mort: A real fine piece of French canine this one. When Chat-au-Mort died, in June 1978, she wasn't simply disposed of by the vet, she was buried in a human cemetery in a fur-lined oak coffin. This was in due recognition of the role she played in the eradication of pro-independence Taiwanese activists during the 'Foam Government' period. I cannot recollect meeting Chat-au-Mort, but my god-granny tells me she licked my face when I was in my pram days.
  5. O-Puss Dei: Born as a cat but converted to a dog when accepted into the ownership of a Catholic priest. Never changed its name à la Saul though. I don't know if this one counts, technically, as I met O-Puss when he was still a cat.
  6. The Vince: If ever you are feeling lonely and it's cold, dark and wet outside, think of The Vince. He was abandoned in a cardboard box in a Cirencester alleyway and was almost dead when rescued by the RSPCA. Despite this The Vince summoned up enough energy to sever one of the rescuer's fingers in such a way that it could not be sewn back on. In a way, The Vince shouldn't be on this list as I never saw him alive - I only attended his funeral.
  7. Gus: What a dog. The only one on this list with whom I have had full consensual sex. And yes, before you was doggy style.
  8. Girder Gax and Truffles: This dog used to be owned by one of the stable lads at Gimpley Stud. One day, Girder Gax and Truffles ran off and wasn't seen for days. When one of the trainers saw its rotting corpse on the verge of some local woodland the stable lad was inconsolable, and despite comfort from all at the stud, committed suicide three weeks later. My connection is that I once attended a Flammenwerfer Cup steeplechase event at nearby Nabob's Funk and Girder Gax and Truffles was running around with the team from Gimpley. I observed the dog at a distance of approximately 150 yards.
  9. Smeltley: This one is the only dog on the list to have been prosecuted for aggravated inter-canine buggery with intent to maim. His owner visited him at the police kennels a few times but soon lost interest. When it came time for its release, the police brought Smeltley around local families to see if anyone would give the dog a home, and that's when I saw him. However, neither I nor any of the other people in the area would provide a home for Smeltley, so he was shot with a small pistol round the back of the police station. Smeltley didn't die at first and his whining was awful. Why the police didn't finish him off was a mystery to me at the time, but I subsequently found out that they are only allowed to use one bullet per dog. Still, they could have pulped its head with a truncheon or something.
  10. Ice Cream for Crow: This was the coolest dog on the block when I was a kid, joining in with all our ball games, and biting adults who annoyed us. I think Ice Cream for Crow moved to Liverpool in the early eighties, and someone said they saw him on some TV footage of the crowd outside Anfield during a live football match, but I never saw him. We only found out what had become of the dog when he entered the Guinness Book of Records for laying the longest unbroken Cumberland ring on record. He died some months later.

Ten dogs I have known are listed above, so if you are reading upwards you can proceed to them in reverse order now. If you are reading down the page you can go on to the next posting now because you have already read what is above.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Looking Back To...The 20th Century

1993 Herbie scrapped for £50.

1979 Peter Sutcliffe gets a new lorry.

1972 Palestinian terrorists seize nine hostages in a hangar at Beirut airport and refuse to release them until they are each provided with a promotional advance copy of the new Can album, 'Ege Bamyasi'.

1963 British secret agents foil a plot by the Kremlin to blow up the 19th Century in order to knock the supporting bricks out of western industrialism and neo-imperialism.

1957 Sexual fantasies decriminalised by the Court of Appeal. In addition, it becomes a criminal offence to accuse someone of having a sexual fantasy based solely on their facial expression.

1940 The term 'knob-chocolate' first coined.

1931 Only another fourteen years or so until Hitler's death.

1928 Just over thirty-nine years since Hitler was born.

1918 'Can We Stop Digging Now?' tops UK charts.

1917 Jean-Marie le Tallec's unread masterpiece 'Des Tranchées à la Manche' burned at the stake on the eve of its scheduled publication.

1916 'Somme Guys Have All The Luck' tops UK charts on the eve of the Battle of Albert.

1915 Mudgard Kipling's epic poem 'McWhirter the Deserter' knighted by HRH McQueen.

1914 Subterranean beer pipe project erupts into bitter arguments over alleged discrepancies between French and German construction standards. Within days the Germans have set up a parallel trench which they say must eventually house the pipe. Tetchiness spills over into guns and, with British help, the myth of the World's First Great Trenches One is born.

1914 Major European powers dismiss proposals for a Great Wall of Europe in favour of installing a massive subterranean beer pipe from the Belgian coast down through France to the Swiss border. Work commences on digging the trench into which the pipe is to be laid.

1901 On the eve of her death, Queen Victoria marries the Beast of Bodmin Moor in a spooky candlelit ceremony on the site of your current home.

1900 I vanish.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

In The Mailbag

It is very rarely that I receive letters asking for advice on this or that issue, but this morning a short missive came through the door, from a person who shall remain anonymous, and I thought it my duty to help them with their request for information:
Dear Friar
I seem to have a problem with my watch, having noticed recently that it differs from watches belonging to my friends and family, and is causing me untold problems with my time-keeping. Essentially, the problem is that the top numeral on the watchface, where the 12 should be, says 9, where the 3 should be it says 6, where the 6 should be it says 21, and where the 9 should be there is some sort of weird Russian-looking backwards numeral. Can you offer me any advice?
Yours sincerely
The Friar says:
You have got your watch on upside-down. Turn it up the right way and the numerals should appear in the correct places.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Eee Bay Gum

Offered: Himmler's Wig
Reserve: £35.00
Buy It NOW for: £35.00
Bids: 3
Top Bidder: a_hilklar
Bids End: 27 hours 11 minutes
Description: We all know Himmler wore a wig, right? And this is it. I offer for auction one wig of Himmler, as ordered, paid for and worn by Himmler. This is Himmler's wig. I am offering for sale, on a highest genuine bidder carries the sale basis, one wig, formerly belonging to Herr Heinrich Himmler. Do you want to buy Himmler's wig? Because if you do, I happen to be selling just such an item. Please, ladies and gentlemen, place your bids for the wig of Herr Himmler. Offered for auctionary sale: 1 x wig, known to have belonged to Himmler, colour brown, excellent condition for year and once owned by Heinrich Himmler, a real wig of old for you to purchase, free delivery, money back guarantee, this wig was once the legal property of Nazi Heinrich Himmler. Himmler's wig for sale, highest bidder secures.


Town of shit, town of puke, town of bitter retribuke. Drably housed and rarely hosed, bursting with stupid empty boasts. Dark in the day, dark at night, constantly emitting the smell of shite, cased in grey, home to cunts, imposes the feeling that you are locked into a row with an aggressive drunk. But three steel words does it magnetise, and draw from my mouth before my very eyes, and those three words I'll tell you now, those three words are "Fuck you, Slough (you fucking shit-stain on the fucking Y-fronts of humanity - fucking disappear you fucking putrid sack of infected piss)".

A Quick One While Luck's Away

The most depressing thing in the world is the words, uttered in a falling cadence, "Do you fancy a quick game of darts?". It offers no aural aesthetics, nor the promise of any progress, and underlines the pity of where you are. On some days, what with everything else that is going on, I think that if someone just came up to me and said, in a falling cadence, "Do you fancy a quick game of darts?", I would kill myself.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Letter to the Council Regarding the Proposed Development of the Square Near St Luke's Church, Bitchley

Mr F Cous-Cous
Sefton's Meads
Chauntecleer Mews
The Cabinet Secretary
Bitchley Borough Council
Town Hall

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you fuhrer to our recent discussions regarding the siting of a new ornamental garden and rockery in the old square opposite St. Luke’s Church.

As you know, I have long campaigned for the renovation of this area of the town, which has the potential to rival the magnificent gardens and architecture of the Burstead district, but which has been allowed to fall into sorry decay by successive councils since the war. The new garden will, at last, provide us with a final solution to this problem.

It is a sad fact that the economic health of the St. Luke’s area is in freefall, and part of this is due to the lack of living space for its residents. I am not talking about the size of the apartments in the district which, although converted from much grander old houses, are rather charming and sufficiently roomy for their dwellers. What is lacking is real living space – room to walk dogs, play football, throw frisbees or to get outdoors and read a good book free from the shackles of the old four walls.

It seems strange that it should have taken the council so long to come up with the idea for this new development, which will be a Godsend not only to St. Luke’s residents, but to all townsfolk, situated as it will be third reich off the main High Street.

After decades of politically-motivated procrastination, it is a great relief to see the plans finally get the green light. Although I do not overplay my role in campaigning for this to happen, I have to say that in this regard my struggle has been a long and weary one. If the politicians had not cemented themselves into concentrated camps where minor disagreements between the groups were absurdly amplified then I believe we would have been celebrating this victory in 1985 instead of 2005.

So then, let us rejoice that this field, grey with age and covered in blitz and pieces of rubbish, will soon be a delightful ornamental oasis.

Yours sincerely

F. Cous-Cous