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Sunday, 21 September 2003

Mystic big-Mouth strikes again

Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: I Am Kloot; Suede; The Kills (while in five hour traffic jam)

My buttocks ache like anything, and not from sex, from exercise. This is where the countryside has it all wrong.

Spent ten hours driving to and from forest this weekend. Made super special by spraining my gas-pedal ankle last Thursday. (wearing stiletto heels and a wee skirt all Friday definitely improved that situation... oh yes.) Agonising rictuses 'r' us... After six and a half hours, I decided to buy a map (just after I spotted the English Channel, lurking somewhere it really shouldn't have been).
After 8 hours, I stopped slowing down when driving past wild forest ponies. If they want to be cheeseburger, it's allright by me.

Still amazed by how powerful the Ageing Goth Pound is becoming in this country. Small five-house town Burley possesses two working covens. Apparently Lymington's 'literary links' are all satanist or Dennis Wheatley-related (according to the local information centre's leaflet). Someone somewhere is about to make their fortune out of mass-marketing string fingerless gloves and frilly white shirts, no doubt.
Added to this, every town I've visited ever now has a crappy shop selling plexi-glass wizard figurines, or tin dragons and sorcerors (often on motorbikes).
There's some new national magazine called something like 'Psychic Take A Break' which is staffed by the most extreme camp / mentally defective looking journos and one newsreader type dishy/classy woman writer. The dishy, classy looking journo turns out to be the worst of them all - works a problem page racket where problems like 'my little boy has liver failure' are answered with dodgy tripe that advises turning off the dialysis machine and trusting in the power of a tibetan spit candle, instead.

And finally, the marketing wonder that is EvanEscence. These people should be required reading on MBA courses - the first musicians to spot and exploit the gap in the market that allies Goth doomyism to Christian youth.
So simple! Why did nobody else think of fleecing this lot? It's the Pope's very own Marilyn Manson.

This page graced by sarsparilla at 11:44 PM BST
Updated: Sunday, 21 September 2003 11:57 PM BST
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Monday, 22 September 2003 - 2:54 AM BST

Name: Vic (sex pest and lezzinator) James
Home Page:

Don't knock the spit candle, it saved me from several virulant infections of the pancreatic and colonic tracts. It works best when rounded off at one end and inserted with lubricant.

You should have bought porn, there is no shame there.

Monday, 22 September 2003 - 7:06 AM BST

Name: Vanessa

Yes, in the Satanic Ritual Pony Filled Forest, I did notice that proper coffee was unobtainable, yet Big Jugs Monthly was next to Twinkle on the bottom shelf, actually.

Monday, 22 September 2003 - 12:02 PM BST

Name: Vic Jameson
Home Page:

I was nearly fooled by Big Jugs Monthly, until I realised it was a potters magazine.

Monday, 22 September 2003 - 5:31 PM BST

Name: Vanessa

A perennial problem which has greatly affected the circulatiion of WI monthlies such as M*ff Diverse Monthly, and Motherf*ckers Quarterly. It's so easy to take names at face value.

Monday, 22 September 2003 - 7:43 PM BST

Name: Kat
Home Page:

Come now, everybody knows it's the Lutheran spit candles which are the most effective in worship.

Monday, 22 September 2003 - 11:08 PM BST

Name: Vanessa

Lol, only when washed in the salty tears of a freshly caught church of england puppy.

Tuesday, 23 September 2003 - 10:11 PM BST

Name: jatb

But not even a Lutheran candle will fend off an angry New Forest pony, you know.

Wednesday, 24 September 2003 - 12:01 AM BST

Name: Vanessa

Horror visual of the century! I think you just drove me insane.

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