I got much more black against white football action than I
expected last night in Gullivers. The Starlight Magic Hour played quite late.
They were not a team in the world cup as I’m sure you know, anyway there
weren’t enough of them to take on the bolshy vics of Crow Asia! They are a six
man band who play rowdy knees up drinking songs. Sometimes they have a violin,
sometimes three guitars. Seb White MP, who has recently been appointed Minister
of Rocking after Morrissey resigned in disgust at Bengalis wearing platform
boots, also plays in one of Manchester’s best bands The Yossarians and another
guitarist also fronts horror glambangers Mold. Their set started at the time
the Inglund Crow Asia match should have finished, but our proud team were so
upset at the resignation of national Latin prattle hero Boris Johnson they
didn’t get enough goals in so had to do some overtime. I expect each one of
them got paid enough money to cover the wages of twenty nurses for a year. I
was glad Inglund got knocked out during The Starlight Magic Hour because if
they’d won the cup the slimy corrupt Tory backstabbers would have just used it
as propaganda to obscure their proto-fascist evil. I think the best team won as
Crow Asia did a dribble past stint that kept the ball away from the whites’
feet for so long that even I actually began to enjoy watching football instead
of just making sarcastic commentator lampoon remarks like “And a man has just
kicked a ball!” and “The ball bounces, as usual!” Luckily I was amongst a gathering
who didn’t take football seriously enough to get upset by such
pseudo-Partridgism. The most interesting thing about the match was the advert
for “McDelivery.” I wondered if this is what foul cow murderers McDonalds call
their planet raping toxicity in Russia? I imagined a literal muck delivery
happening during the match, so the players had to kick the ball about in a sea of
slurry: a real shitkicker of a game. The match was projected on the wall at the
back of the stage before The Starlight Magic Hour played and I worried that the
ball might get kicked through the screen and knock over a microphone stand.
Downstairs at the bar I met Louise Woodcont who was also not concerned about
football as she told me she’d wasted too much energy on it when she was
younger. Brian who I met at the Vital Idles gig was also there and I told him
about the strange surprise you gave me at the time of Inglund’s first cup match.
I got almost as rowdy as a ball fan to “Safe European Home” by The Clash. I’ve
certainly wasted a hell of a lot more energy jumping around and shouting along to
The Clash than kicking balls or shouting at men kicking balls and some older
friends tell me The Clash were the best band they ever saw. Anyway to take the
stage after one of the finest rock’n’roll tunes in existation is a challenge the
red boiler suit clad Caroline Rose was up to. Luckily she soon brought the
stage back and played some very danceable anthems with her gender balanced band
and got everyone down the front doing the Woodcock. She showed us her pussy. I
mean she showed us her fluffy toy cat that sat on her keyboard. She also had
fake red flowers all over her microphones. I found myself wiggling about just
behind Lou and next to the helpful fellow from Fopp who knew exactly which DVD
I was after when I asked him if they had “That film about the alien woman who
kills men in Scotland.” Just past him was Rivca Burns, who luckily was not
literally burning although if she had been we were all close enough to the new
fire exit to get out in a hurry.
Some of this letter has been fake news, in honour of the
glorious king of the free world, Donald Duck. I would like to credit you and
any other nosy parker reading this with enough
intelligence to know the difference between bullshit and dog shit. Please click
my like button as myself is steam and I only live for likes. Fake news! Fake
news!
Bonus points to anyone who can recognise the film about the
alien woman who kills men in Scotland.
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