QUEER MESSIAH JOURNALISM







RAINY DAY INFORMATION

....it’s said a rat is only ever six feet from your toes in a city
....pretty clever creatures they share an odious feature with us
....poisoning their homes with filth then having to move on
....and crime and sex in all its variance is there inside a radius
....of four yards from your uncertain heart- as unseen as unheard
....as absurd
....so much for watchfulness
....and what of this sick almost bucolic plague of victims
....how vague our pity for them does eventually become

Help no never
Fire yes

....he has her by the balls in the underbrush
....rushed flustered in a state of forced undress

So
If ever WHEN there’s six inches of razor sharp
Cold Sheffield steel
At your throat
Drawing blood
Bringing you to heel
While some great ape penetrates
With a dick without a mac no chick could reasonably feel
Less
Under such duress
Think bleeding quick hun beyond the speed of thinking
Blink respond

....in her apartness from her safe apartment
....she knows the orange over-glow means near to home
....too close to the bastard bone the drone of traffic
....she hears as laughter mixed with bird’s annoying evensong
....a tide of fretting footsteps in the recent wet
....the park laurel dripping water on his dark hooded Parka
....prays to Allah

Help only comes to the ones with the wit
To have read this shit
And kept it tucked away for a very rainy day

....I needed to squat my love to pee so desperately
....For once in my life
....It was never going to be me this heaving this disbelieving
....I am so devout not often out

Fuck-
All forensic-psychological detectives say
By far the most effective scream
When being raped
Yes raped
Raped
Raped
Raped
Raped
Is
FIRE

....the worst thing was I felt in truth desire
....the best of all my body chemistry conspiring to flood
....blood’s lusts with a rustic passion few confess
....I know yes this despoils me further
....from my letting this regrettable incident occur

Scream FIRE and we come with buckets and ropes
Ladders hope and budding front-page heroes
And constantly harp on

....he leaves her sloppy wet in that receptacle
....scratches in her twat
....muddied mugged by broken twigs that’s that
....no fussy spectacle

Scream rape in this age of loving zeros and we walk away
As ever rats
Perhaps that’s why she stuck to silence
Shared with all the dream scenario she’d had a fall
A stumble from grace in motion not from innocence

Chris Madoch © 2009

Rape of all kinds is on the increase. We should not be surprised. When the crime is reported and brought to justice the facts are there in the public domain, though clearly the pain and the psychological trauma suffered by the victims and those close to them cannot be adequately calibrated. That fact touches me profoundly- we feed in a frenzy upon the facts but cannot find a way to communicate the hidden truths; maybe because, in truth, we cannot bear to face them.
Aside from that immense sadness there is a phenomenon we can only speculate about, it is the vast numbers of unreported rapes worldwide. Many reasons are cited for keeping silent- personal, cultural and religious. Often, in the west, the official process of following through the reporting of the crime, is still seen by many victims as being prohibitive. In the pursuit of justice this process is naturally thorough and exhaustive and maybe perceived as being in itself psychologically damaging.
I have intentionally stuck to the word victim because males are raped too- variously and of all ages. Even when such things are reported to the authorities the media fights shy of reporting these unpalatable, unfashionable rapes to us. By far and away the large majority of such incidents go reported to no-one.
There is a contentious reference in this poem to the emergence of desire during the act of rape. To be abashed by this would be to be ignorant of the conflicting sensations unleashed in such circumstances, which nature often makes fruitful; circumstances in which the victims ‘levels of participation’ are doubted, to this day, by rabid fundamentalists. Those who are stolen or taken away- the word rape in another sense, are famously known to develop amorous attachments to their captors. Then there is of course mankind’s unkind persuasion to make stigma stick. I think it’s pretty sick but I have seen it at work too often to dismiss it.

Chris Madoch Editorial Director ‘UN HAUTEUR BIZARRE’






LIKE A TOTAL TWAT, THIS IS A FACE-ACHING FACEBOOK QUIZ I TOOK WITH MY TONGUE PRETTY FIRMLY IN MY CHEEK- GREAT TRICK IF YOU’VE GOT THE FLEXIBILITY AND BODY PARTS TO ACHIEVE IT.

***********FOOD-OLOGY***************
What is your salad dressing of choice?
I like all my lads undressed.

What is your favorite sit-down restaurant?
I don’t dice with Salmonella often enough to have one.

What food could you eat for 2 weeks straight and not get sick of it?
Dick-juice.

What are your pizza toppings of choice?
I grew out of acne- aged eighteen.

What do you like to put on your toast?
Smegma Omega Spread.

What's your favorite fruit?
My pineapple man.

What's your favorite candy?
My well preserved, sugar sweet, pineapple man.

**********TECHNOLOGY***************

How many television sets are in your house?
Two- I am ashamed to say. One’s for bedroom entertainment.

What color of cell phone do you have?
Samsung Silver Chrome front with toning matt back.

***************BIOLOGY******************
Are you right-handed or left-handed?
Right. The stats say because of that I might get to live longer. No chance!

Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Oddly enough, many times, in more ways than one. One’s been back and forth.

What is the last heavy item you lifted?
When I recently took a pee- in my bunker we have a lead-lined loo seat.

Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
No. But I bet if I were you would find a way to take advantage of me?

************BULLCRAPOLOGY**************

If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Yes. It takes time, dedication and designer notelets  to pre-arrange a sex party.

If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
Lord Gayred Manfan D’Eville. Facebook won’t let my friend add the ‘Lord’ bit- very queer for such a fundamentalist outfit.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
You gotta be kidding- six hundred quid? No chilli passes my lips at any price. Except for maybe the carrot of 24hrs with Ray Winstone and a good supply of Rohipnol.

************DUMBOLOGY******************

How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
Only a ½- one got broke being used as a paddle in a sex game.

Last time you had a run-in with the cops?
I said- ‘Officer, it IS a fair cop, blonde pelmet AND curtains.’

Last person you talked to?
My pineapple man who dropped home for a swift kiss and a coffee.

Last person you hugged?
My pineapple man on his way out to service a woman- he’s in the Beauty industry.

**************FAVORITOLOGY****************

Season?
The mating season tied equal first with the bigot baiting season.

Holiday?
Gran Canaria- though it can be tedious


Day of the week?
I like a bit of Viking- so, the tail end of Thor’s day.

Month?
June- so as never to forget the name of my mother-in-law.

***********CURRENTOLOGY*****************

Missing someone?
Even after 26yrs I miss him the very moment he’s gone.

Mood?
What do you expect- I have Major depression Disorder and a
 
very high creative drive.

***************RANDOMOLOGY*****************

First place you went this morning?
Back to sleep.

What's the last movie you saw?
NEW WORLD. It’s the same old story- food, territory, s
ex.

What are you listening to?
A mantle clock chiming four pm. A gift from an ex-patriot friend living Cyprus.

Watching?
My back- as ever.

Worrying about?
American Foreign and Fiscal Policy and where to get the next laugh from.

Do you smile often?
A lot more than most of you will ever know.


***************QUESTIONS***************

Do you always answer your phone?
I don’t like giving the answer-machine a futility complex.

It's four in the morning and you get a text message, who is it?
A wrong number. Been plagued with them for ten years- it’s one digit away from the local health centre’s.
If you could change your eye color what would it be?
French lavender with Buddhist orange sparkles. Maybe..for best.
What flavour do you add to your drink at Sonic?
Some yank wanker without one iota of global perception developed this quiz. Surprise surprise!
Do you own a digital camera?
I have a number of image capture devices for all eventualities.

Have you ever had a pet fish?
Several. They died. One committed suicide.

Favorite Christmas song?
The words favourite and christmas in the same sentence do not compute.

What's on your wish list for your birthday?
It’s a significant landmark- so none really. Stunned to still be here. I like gadgets- so any in the top 100 of must haves that I don’t already have would be gratefully recieved. Either that or a concrete contract with an agent and/or a proper publisher.

Can you do push ups?
Given the right sexual stimulation.

Can you do a chin up?
Is that called chinning- or am I on the wrong track?

Does the future make you more nervous or excited?
I undertake to give as much a fuck as you do. Can’t say fairer than that.

Do you have any saved texts?
Nah! Burned all my Bibles and such many moons ago. Best barbecue ever.

Ever been in a car wreck?
Two. One when we ran into a herd of cows- moo!

Do you have an accent?
Received English/Welsh/Caramel. A pedigree cross between Richard Burton and Hannibal Lecter. I also have a secret freckle.

What is the last song to make you cry?
The Welsh National Anthem and the piece ‘Siren Song’ by the composer Marc Yeats.

Plans tonight?
Go to bed on an empty stomach and pump flesh.

Have you ever felt like you hit rock bottom?
I sucked someone who’d slept with Elton John. Is there another position or was I only dreaming?

Name 3 things you bought in the last week
A4 White card. German Pear Cider. A gadget mag. I’m a recluse, this is real hard.

Have you ever been given roses?
Yes- but I generally dislike them. I only ever smile if they’re yellow.

Current worry?
The side effects of my vast raft of medication.

Current hate right now?
I don't hate anything except the fact and use of the word ‘hate’.

Met someone who changed your life?

Yes. Yes. And OMG yes.

How did you bring in the New Year?
It appeared. It went. What a weird non-event. Janus- you two faced prick,  you’ve got a lot to answer for. Fireworks on the Thames- fuck all for the third world.

What song represents you?
I’m larger than average but by no means the size of a country, so no anthem for me.

Name three people who might complete this?
Me. Myself and some other sap on Facebook.

What were you doing at 12 AM last night?
Oddly, for me, sleeping for once in as very long time.

What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
Need to take an anti-histamine.









GIVE ME [DELETE] US SOME AIR




The very eminent jazz vocalist Dame Cleo Laine is noted for her signature scat singing- the brilliant improvising of meaningless syllables around the melody line. I confess to having a mind liable to such temptations. I like it. You may call it scatterbrained, imagining that to be a slight when, in point of fact it can be construed as complimentary- I take no exception to being referred to as a vehicle of an hyperactive but sometimes unfocussed intelligence. Call me scatterbrained as much as you like. And should I ever be found trespassing on your ‘dear-to-you’ territory by all means holler at me to scat or skedaddle. I have always made it a rule to remove myself from a place where there is no welcome. In my scatty somewhat ‘away-with-the-birdies’ way I may have, by pure accident, stumbled from the straight and narrow and soiled your very own precious patch of Earth. It must be worth a great deal to you though far less than it was ten years ago. Shit that.
Now, how serendipitous it is of me to have found your Achilles heel. I never set out to look for it- but there it is, the evidence of your worth, on show for all to see. I do love a slice of serendipity- on a hunt for butterflies say, taking a wrong turning only to find doggers, dogging doggie-style in the undergrowth, a stone’s throw from a lay-by. It’s never a good time to chat. And by the smell of it the banging gang are into scat- sexual sensation heightened by the presence of fecal matter. I have a dog with me- deodorised plastic bags and a pooper-scooper.
I am trying to lay on you the notion that, as a writer, my bent is to explore tangents. It’s the way I’m wired. I can’t help it no more than most wealthy people can help being freaking controlites perpetually exhibiting high levels of OCD. Ordinary folks might have the odd hissy fit but rich people continually have champagne fuelled hit-the-fan shits.
God bless America. What is that? No, I’ll come back to that.
People who collect fossilised crap are generally called coprologists. ‘Mom. You know what this rock is. It’s a Veloceraptors stool.’ Some households suffer such outbursts at breakfast. If yours is one of them then count yourself lucky- your kid be it m or f is beneficially scatterbrained. They will grow up to ask you questions that even your government will have no answers for.
Scatology- the science of the study of fecal matter and all matters pertaining to the study of fecal matter including the many psychological tangents such as lavatorial humour and all forms of association between sex and shit. The British seat of government endured a Lord Boothby- a rather large gay man as it happens, with a predilection for laying naked under glass coffee tables whilst nude youths dumped on the surface. I can’t for the life of me see the libidinous attraction in that. Doubtless one of you in the pond will surface with an attempt to enlighten me.
Where were we. Oh yes- ‘God Bless America’. What the fecal matter is that? It’s a whole crock of shit that’s what it is. But any American farts it out of their bucal orifice seemingly at every given opportunity. Don’t try and friggin’ save me coz in no way am I a believer. Hell’s a no go since the Catholics got rid of it. I’m buzzing. Damn me to hell if you like. It don’t exist.
Who’s God anyway? The Jews’ God? The Muslims’ God? The Kennedys’ God?
And what does bless mean. Does it mean ‘ah’ that’s better everything is going to be alright? Does it mean ‘favour’ above all others? Why? Why be so parochial, so selfish, so self-obsessed to ask God to favour America above all others. Even the American allies don’t get a mention here. Shit! It don’t get much meaner that.
And what America is being referred to in this piece of ubiquitous and wholly patronising pooh? Do you think it might be the financial devils who magicked up the financial recession and rewarded themselves in the process? I can’t believe it is for one minute the millions of Americans without jobs, without healthcare, without visible palpable political presence. You know the founding fathers are turning in their graves.
Religion has embroiled itself within the governance of the USA in a way that the founding fathers sought to expressly deny. It has contaminated the blood of the people, mated with patriotism and now continues to openly rape the state. It has given birth to hollow hope and dreams that are in fact delusion. It’s a whole crock of shit that’s what it is. And not just America and Americans but the whole of the world is suffocating in the bullcrap of it.
I am scared- chronically asthmatic I need good quality air to breathe, besides which I have COPD- an incurable and fatal lung condition. Every day, despite being an atheist I pray ‘Give me/us some air’. I separate my paper from my plastic beneath a flight path to Gatwick. I lamely re-cycle in a wild-life garden sprayed by aircraft fuel. The whole world owes China an immense debt- it bailed out the collapsing World Bank. In return we shall all have to be silent as it continues its phenomenal industrial revolution and its necessary tangent pollution. This is the week that the UK changed its Chief of Staff and the incomer was gifted a bummer of a job, foisted on the British by the Americans, to tell the world that our long term commitment to war in Afghanistan was realistically 40yrs. The war has already been labelled Obama’s Vietnam. It is in truth, nothing but a suffocating crock of shit.
We bring our dead back from the realm of heroine, sometimes referred to as scat, and the tabloids celebrate their meaningless deaths. In the same time frame a seven year old boy at play on a farm in Devon, an English County renowned for creamed teas and bovines with appealing eyes, fell into a slurry pit and drowned. A boy suffocated by liquid cow-shit. Did this poignant reminder of our ironic vulnerability merit the tabloids- not a bit of it.
It was only serendipity that brought me to the sad reality of it.

Chris Madoch © 2009 Editor of Un Hauteur Bizarre





Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED






PAROCHIAL THANKSGIVING SHIT

OH! Whoopee doo do. It's American Territory parochial 'Thanksgiving'-  shit, break out the brass neck, the manipulated history books, the fishnets and the high heels. Kill animals. Clap the family. Family. Family. Yeah! What fucking family values are you cheering here?
In a country where marriages last an average of no more than 7 years, it strikes me as a bit rich to be using ‘Thanksgiving’ to focus on the values Washington constantly places in it. Do we care? Not much. We're queers, we're over here, we've been together for 23 years. Last year got legally Civil Partnered. Now go and stuff your dead fowl's bum with that as a fact.
Strange as it may seem to gung ho, gravy stirring Yanks, Europeans have no interest whatsoever in ‘Thanksgiving’, it rings no bells here- and, in fact, the truth of it sickens the intelligentsia this side of the pond.

I found this bulletin posted today by evidently well educated and articulate Native Americans- obviously not part of the 40% of all Americans currently defined as illiterate and innumerate.

'I cannot celebrate a day that stands for murder of a people. I am not some single chosen person by God. My colour of skin does NOT make me chosen, I am sadden that the truth of this holiday is racism and genocide. We still celebrate racist holidays then wonder why we can't defeat this problem here in our country? Please...wake the fuck up...
“When we met with the Wampanoag people, they told us that in researching the history of Thanksgiving, they had confirmed the oral history passed down through their generations. Most Americans know that Massasoit, Chief of the Wampanoag, had welcomed the so-called Pilgrim Fathers—and the seldom-mentioned Pilgrim Mothers—to the shores where his people had lived for millennia. The Wampanoag taught the European colonists how to live in our hemisphere by showing them what wild foods they could gather, how, where, and what crops to plant, and how to harvest, dry and preserve them.

The Wampanoag now wanted to remind White America of what had happened after Massasoit’s death. Massasoit was succeeded by his son, Metacomet, whom the colonists called “King” Philip. In 1675-1676, to show “gratitude” for what Massasoit’s people had done for their fathers and grandfathers, the Pilgrims manufactured an incident as a pretext to justify disarming the Wampanoag.

The whites went after the Wampanoag with guns, swords, cannons and torches. Most, including Metacomet, were butchered. His wife and son were sold into slavery in the West Indies. His body was hideously drawn and quartered.

For twenty-five years afterward, Metacomet’s skull was displayed on a pike above the whites’ village. The real legacy of the Pilgrim Fathers is treachery. Most Americans today believe that Thanksgiving celebrates a boar harvest, but that is not so.

Massasot Treaty
By 1970, the Wampanoag had turned up a copy of a Thanksgiving proclamation made by the governor of the colony; the text revealed the ugly truth: After a colonial militia had returned from murdering the men, women, and children of an Indian village, the governor proclaimed a holiday and feast to give thanks for the massacre. He encouraged other colonies to do likewise—in other words, every autumn the crops are in, go kill Indians and celebrate your murders with a feast.

The Wampanoag we met at Plymouth came from everywhere in Massachusetts. Like many other eastern nations, theirs had been all but wiped out. The survivors found refuge in other Indian nations that had not succumbed to European diseases or to violence. The Wampanoag went into hiding, or joined the Six Nations, or found homes among the Delaware Shawnee nations, to name a few. Some also sought refuge in one of the two hundred eastern-seaboard nations that were later exterminated.

Nothing remains of those nations but their names, and even some of those have been lost. Other Wampanoag, who couldn’t reach another Indian nation, survived by intermarriage with Black slaves or freedmen. It is hard to imagine a life terrible enough that people would choose instead, with all their progeny, to become slaves, but that is exactly what some Indians did.”


One indication of moral progress in the United States would be the replacement of Thanksgiving Day and its self-indulgent family feasting with a National Day of Atonement accompanied by a self-reflective collective fasting.

In fact, indigenous people have offered such a model; since 1970 they have marked the fourth Thursday of November as a Day of Mourning in a spiritual/political ceremony on Coles Hill overlooking Plymouth Rock, Massachusetts, one of the early sites of the European invasion of the Americas.

Not only is the thought of such a change in this white-supremacist holiday impossible to imagine, but the very mention of the idea sends most Americans into apoplectic fits- which speaks volumes about our historical hypocrisy and its relation to the contemporary politics of empire in the United States.

That the world's great powers achieved "greatness" through criminal brutality on a grand scale is not news, of course. That those same societies are reluctant to highlight this history of barbarism also is predictable.

But in the United States, this reluctance to acknowledge our original sin -- the genocide of indigenous people -- is of special importance today. It's now routine -- even among conservative commentators -- to describe the United States as an empire, so long as everyone understands we are an inherently benevolent one. Because all our history contradicts that claim, history must be twisted and tortured to serve the purposes of the powerful.

One vehicle for taming history is various patriotic holidays, with Thanksgiving at the heart of U.S. myth-building. From an early age, we Americans hear a story about the hearty Pilgrims, whose search for freedom took them from England to Massachusetts. There, aided by the friendly Wampanoag Indians, they survived in a new and harsh environment, leading to a harvest feast in 1621 following the Pilgrims first winter.

Some aspects of the conventional story are true enough. But it's also true that by 1637 Massachusetts Gov. John Winthrop was proclaiming a thanksgiving for the successful massacre of hundreds of Pequot Indian men, women and children, part of the long and bloody process of opening up additional land to the English invaders. The pattern would repeat itself across the continent until between 95 and 99 percent of American Indians had been exterminated and the rest were left to assimilate into white society or die off on reservations, out of the view of polite society.

Simply put: Thanksgiving is the day when the dominant white culture (and, sadly, most of the rest of the non-white but non-indigenous population) celebrates the beginning of a genocide that was, in fact, blessed by the men we hold up as our heroic founding fathers.

The first president, George Washington, in 1783 said he preferred buying Indians' land rather than driving them off it because that was like driving "wild beasts" from the forest. He compared Indians to wolves, "both being beasts of prey, tho' they differ in shape."

Thomas Jefferson- president 3 and author of the Declaration of Independence, which refers to Indians as the "merciless Indian Savages" -- was known to romanticize Indians and their culture, but that didn't stop him in 1807 from writing to his secretary of war that in a coming conflict with certain tribes, "[W]e shall destroy all of them."

As the genocide was winding down in the early 20th century, Theodore Roosevelt (president 26) defended the expansion of whites across the continent as an inevitable process "due solely to the power of the mighty civilized races which have not lost the fighting instinct, and which by their expansion are gradually bringing peace into the red wastes where the barbarian peoples of the world hold sway."

Roosevelt also once said, "I don't go so far as to think that the only good Indians are dead Indians, but I believe nine out of ten are, and I shouldn't like to inquire too closely into the case of the tenth."

How does a country deal with the fact that some of its most revered historical figures had certain moral values and political views virtually identical to Nazis? Here's how "respectable" politicians, pundits, and professors play the game: When invoking a grand and glorious aspect of our past, then history is all-important. We are told how crucial it is for people to know history, and there is much hand wringing about the younger generations' lack of knowledge about, and respect for, that history.

In the United States, we hear constantly about the deep wisdom of the founding fathers, the adventurous spirit of the early explorers, the gritty determination of those who "settled" the country -- and about how crucial it is for children to learn these things.

But when one brings into historical discussions any facts and interpretations that contest the celebratory story and make people uncomfortable -- such as the genocide of indigenous people as the foundational act in the creation of the United States -- suddenly the value of history drops precipitously and one is asked, "Why do you insist on dwelling on the past?"

This is the mark of a well-disciplined intellectual class -- one that can extol the importance of knowing history for contemporary citizenship and, at the same time, argue that we shouldn't spend too much time thinking about history.

This off-and-on engagement with history isn't of mere academic interest; as the dominant imperial power of the moment, U.S. elites have a clear stake in the contemporary propaganda value of that history. Obscuring bitter truths about historical crimes helps perpetuate the fantasy of American benevolence, which makes it easier to sell contemporary imperial adventures -- such as the invasion and occupation of Iraq -- as another benevolent action.

Any attempt to complicate this story guarantees hostility from mainstream culture. After raising the barbarism of America's much-revered founding fathers in a lecture, I was once accused of trying to "humble our proud nation" and "undermine young people's faith in our country."

Yes, of course -- that is exactly what I would hope to achieve. We should practice the virtue of humility and avoid the excessive pride that can, when combined with great power, lead to great abuses of power.

History does matter, which is why people in power put so much energy into controlling it. The United States is hardly the only society that has created such mythology. While some historians in Great Britain continue to talk about the benefits that the empire brought to India, political movements in India want to make the mythology of Hindutva into historical fact.

Abuses of history go on in the former empire and the former colony. History can be one of the many ways we create and impose hierarchy, or it can be part of a process of liberation. The truth won't set us free, but the telling of truth at least opens the possibility of freedom.

As Americans sit down on Thanksgiving Day to gorge themselves on the bounty of empire, many will worry about the expansive effects of overeating on their waistlines. We would be better to think about the constricting effects of the day's mythology on our minds.

The people who now describe themselves as Americans actually stole their country from the Native Americans. They put the Indians in reservations (which got smaller and smaller). The Indians were civilised and spiritual but they had no guns and were an easy target. America was stolen by force.

At a meeting in New England in 1640 the following motions were put to the assembly.

1. The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof.
2. The Lord may give the earth or any part of it to his chosen people.
3. We are his chosen people.

Naturally the assembled bunch of smug, barbarians voted ..yes' to all these motions, and thereby sanctified (in their minds) the theft of a nation.

It was generally agreed that the Indians were savages with no rights and yet both the American constitution and the Declaration of Independence were based on texts devised and used by Native American Indians - texts which included fundamental ideas on liberty, freedom and even legislature.

The American Government signed 370 treaties with the Native Indians but violated provisions in every one of these treaties.

The Americans now celebrate the theft of the country they call their own with a feast called Thanksgiving.'

My view on this matter would be too predictable to tap out on my lap top. Suffice to stay I am spitting turkey feathers.














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SERIOUSLY- SOME OF US ARE STILL KILLED FOR LOVE

HAVING A LAUGH

‎'Put your hands up any heteros in the house. Ah bless. Now put your fists up any gays in the house! Wow! That's more like it- marvellous. I've got this day job, a nice little earner- sales rep for KY Jelly. Look- I know it's a stretch madam but this is supposed to be a laugh. Don't tell me your self-lubricating you're in the OAP seats.' CM


'The fossil stand-up with a walking frame, John Rivers- who thinks jewellery should yell CHEAP louder than fucking canaries on acid said of Yoko Ono- if she found her floating in her pool then she'd punish her dog. I knew that heartless bitch could be cruel to dogs.' CM

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED
Soon to be in an HMV store near you- we wish. NO CHANCE this version with Lee Plonker was disbanded. It has risen like a phoenix from the fires of disappointment though. YAY!

DUREX TINGLE LUBE

DUREX TINGLE LUBE
It works. Course I have. Fab.

THE RUMOUR-MONGERS TONGUE LASHING NEWS DESK

MORTAL INSTRUMENTS Such are the demands of Hollywood that Lily Collins has to continue to pretend that her former relationship with JCB is in fact alive. A little bird tells me it as a dead as a DODO which was a very big bird indeed. Ha. Just like the writer of Mortal Instruments. Believe me the best thing about this movie franchise will be LILY COLLINS who has just delivered the performance of her life in the soon to be released LOVE ROSIE. An Oscar nomination beckons I reckon. And yes, I am in a position to know. THE NEXT LAME DEVELOPMENT IN SELF-PUBLISHING Saddo outfits such as the much fanned ONEIROS BOOKS actually self-publish authors who are too cowardly, lazy, lousy or inept to self-publish themselves. HILARIOUS. Of course you have to get through the onerous filtering processes. Licking arse helps. Judging by this house's nauseatingly variable standard of output the filters in place are utterly worthless. The poetry editor has no understanding of POETRY per se and is a piss-poor poet by any standard. They openly applaud themselves for being revolutionary. Pathetic. They are but a further evolution of the self-affirmation model and the modernly sociopathic ego. Steer clear. Do not indulge their risible waste of tree.

ALWAYS PRACTICE

ALWAYS PRACTICE
until you're absolutely perfect at it.

HAVE FUN

HAVE FUN
with the total freedom to be and love who you are without complaint or restraint.

GOGGLE GIGGLE BOX CAMP FAVES

TOP 25 TUNES PREVIEWS

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED


QUEER MESSIAH BANNED PLAYER

This is where the first tracks for the new band will shortly appear but meanwhile I will be showcasing songs from prior collaborations- this first one CALIFORNIAN QUEEN is from the album CERULEAN BLUE that I wrote with the genius Dominic Shaw. I do the spoken word and he does the lead vocals and instruments. He is not a gay man and is now heavily into ambient music. The album was loved by Phil Collins, Hit and Run Music and EMI- but eight years ago no-one had any idea how to market it.