And not in a good way either. I feel like flushing my head down the toilet repeatedly just to feel alive. I feel like smashing as many pint glasses as I can over my head until I’m numb.

Gary Lightbody is from a town in Northern Ireland called Bangor. Now if you aren’t familiar with Northern Ireland, Bangor is a seaside town that actually has no inhabitants at all. It’s like Pripyat, Chernobyl only without any of the radiation or fun.

That’s why Lightbody’s songs are so desolate and shit. He’s upset about having been raised in such a hellhole. But no-one actually cares. Apart from all of those whinging indie kids who just get off on his dire bollocks because they don’t know any better.

Shame on you Lightbody. Retire before you ruin life for us all more than you’ve done so already.

Here’s an example of someone who has taken color and the fringe to the extreme. Fuck knows how she navigates around the place, I’m guessing through sonar like a dolphin.

This isn’t you typical emo hairdo, although he does remind me somewhat of Morrissey. It’s far too well kept to be Emo actually. You just can’t wash your hair more than 3 times a year if you want to be taken seriously by the emo crowd.

This is the perfect example of emo hair gone wrong. She looks like she’s graying for fucks sake. Even my granny wouldn’t dig this do (if she was still alive). I suppose this would be cool if you were deliberately trying to portray yourself as world weary and 65.

Christ on a fucking bike! This guy looks like the bastard child of an emu and Malcolm McDowell. Is it just me or is his hair eating him!?! It seems to be alive! Freaky shit!

Here’s another emo haircut that went awry. Again it seems as though the hair is possessed by the spirit of an 18th century conquistador hellbent on invading anything, whether it’s Poland or an innocent girls face.

Fuck since when was Edward Scissorhands emo? Actually now that I think about it he always was. Sure didn’t he live in that castle all in his own for most of his life? And then when he came down to see Ms Ryder he fucked everything up by being seriously clumsy with those hands of his. He was truly creative though, unlike most real emos who are just art school rejects.

• Remind them continually about the inevitability of their own death. Make up stories about recent deaths in your family. Tell them about how every one of your pets died since childhood.
• If they smell, tell them about it! This will normally be the case since they are forbidden by emo law to actually take showers. It’s a well known fact that Gerald Way hasn’t scrubbed his cock clean since 1986.
• Persecute them at every opportunity…..and I don’t mind round them up into death camps. Instead flick peas at them at dinner, fart in their general direction and exclude them from nights out in the town.
• Create false evidence that proves your emo friend is adopted. Merit will be rewarded if you manage to convince them that their natural parents aren’t interested in knowing them. You might want to mention that they were abandoned on their current guardians doorstep on a wet and windy December night with only a soiled newspaper sheet as cover.
• Ask to read their poetry and scrutinize it excessively. Be sure to place emphasis on grammar and spelling mistakes. And laugh everytime the phrase ‘I want to die’ surfaces, which will naturally make for a lot of laughter.
• When you’re visiting an emo at home, sneak onto his/her computer and alter their Bebo profile to make them look like a Neo Nazi. Their PC-chums will break off all contact leaving Mr/Miss Emo yet more alienated.
• Whilst you are on their computer, erase all of their Mp3’s. You might want to physically remove the hard drive from the PC case and stamp on it a few times to make sure it’s fucked. If their iPod is in sight, ensure it suffers a similar fate.
• Tell him/her that you slept with their partner last night and that you’re now together forever.
• Alternatively if they’re single, tell them that everyone in town thinks that they’re a freak without genitals who passes the hours by sobbing to Elton John and Abba records.
• Why not use the old classic and ask them ‘why they look so happy’ every 5 minutes?
• If they have a goldfish, kill it by dropping their soiled bandages into the bowl. You might want to stir the water with a teaspoon to make it look a bit more dramatic. They’ll think poor Goldie has exploded.
• If they have a guitar, snip all of the strings with pliers whilst they are out of the room. When they restring and start playing it, inform them that you’ve never heard a more terrible guitar player in your life.

General Severe Depression

“God seriously shit on my soul when I came out of the womb. I wish He’d just stuck pins in fucking eyes and had me killed right there and then.”.
“Life will never get any better. I will always be stabbing away at my arms hopelessly with an olive fork.”
“What’s the point in ever changing your pants when you’ll just shit them the next time you have another panic attack?”
“I think I have cancer. I think this time it’s terminal.”
“I hate myself and I want to die.”
“Fuck it all, fuck everything.”
“There is no hope. Hope is washed away at the bottom of a vodka bottle”.
“Life is fucking pointless. I wish I could drown myself in a vat of my own urine”.
“I’m useless and my balls smell. And what makes it worse is more cock’s abnormally short”.
“I don’t even know why I get up in the morning. Even my kitty gives off an aura of hopeless despair.”
“I’m tired of feeling alienated from everyone. Only the razor understands me. It knows how I feel. It wants to become a part of me and make me leak blood so red”.
“Last night I dreamt I committed suicide by gorging on Big Macs for a week. It’s a pity it takes so fucking long. Mom would know something was up. ”
“I’d end it all right now but I need to get revenge on that bitch. I could always try to hang myself with my underwear and get my parents to send them after I’m dead. Then she could really catch a whiff of the despair”
“Life is like a cock wound that will never stop seeping. Suicide is like trying to cut your cock off. It can always go wrong. Jay Leno will testify about this.”
“I feel like peeling myself to pieces with a knife. I want to hunt deep inside my body for the last remnants of hope that she’s about to cruelly snatch away from me.”
“I’m already dead inside. You might as well finish me off by chopping off my balls.”
“I hate God. He fucking ruined it all for me. Why did I have to be part of His stupid fucking plan? Why couldn’t He have made me into a seagull? What did I do to deserve this hideous body?”

At a Funeral

“I wish I could climb in that coffin right now. I’d love to get incinerated. I’d feel like a helpless kitten in a microwave”.
“What about me, what about my pain? You can replace grandma! There’s a 1000 other old people who look identical to her down at the old folk’s home! You could never replace me! I’m too much!”
“I feel grave. I want to lie in my grave.”

When You’re Hungry

“I’ve never felt as hungry as this in my life. Fuck the people in Africa! They are always happy! I’ve to deal with both my hunger and my dismay and I just can’t cope.”
“My stomach feels as empty as I do deep inside. There’s a void in my belly and my soul.”

And you can tell these fuck-wits aren’t gay. They’ll only ever tonguekiss when an equally skanky emo-girl is in close proximity. These bastards play gay in order to win women. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there were actually gay but that’s obviously not the case.

Next time I see them kissing I’ll whip out my dick and scream “Kiss this, Mother!”. If they come within a foot of my purple throbber I’ll rinse them down with my blood red piss and call the police. That’s right. I’m reporting these fuckers to the cops from now on.

By the way if you’re a girl and you think Emo Boys kissing other Emo Boys is cute then you’re wrong and obviously a dyke and you should be reported to the coastguard immediately. I’d pay anything to see you strung up in a net by your feet at the docks.

And another thing…..if you try to approach me for a tongue kiss in order to impress a girl I’ll bite your tongue off and spit it back down your throat. I’m far too virile for these pussy emo boys y’see.

Argh I can see you are a persistent little bastard (or bitch, I don’t want to discriminate on the basis of gender)! Ok follow the steps in each of these sections and you’ll be emo in no time.

Cutting

• Self mutilation is extremely popular amongst young emo’s. In order to get started you must have something sharp in your hands. I recommend starting with a toothbrush. Now in order to cut yourself you must have already drank a quart of vodka and be on the verge of mental collapse. If you aren’t already, I’d recommend watching 2 new episodes of the Simpsons back to back.
• Once you are sufficiently pissed, drag the toothbrush across your arm as hard as possible. Whilst you’re doing this it might help to think of all of the shit things you’ve done to other people in your life. Continue digging the brush into your skin until it’s red as hell.
• Now once you’re finished with your first gouge, run into your bathroom to examine the damage. With any luck you’ll have left a big red mark across your arm. Now run around your house screaming until someone acknowledges your wound. If no one is awake jump on top of them and thrust your arm into their face. You must make your first cut known to everyone who’ll listen.
• Your parents will inevitably be distraught that you’ve injured yourself. Be sure to blame your behavior on their bad parenting. You might want to take this opportunity to blackmail them into buying you presents. Promise that you’ll stop hurting yourself if they buy you the entire My Chemical Romance back catalog.
• Now that you’ve made your first cut you’re ready to move onto bigger and better things. Why not try using a black ballpoint pen this time and aim to make your wound even redder? Continue on to ensure your parents keep buying you loads of neat stuff.

Sex

• In order to be emo you must be at the very least bisexual (and preferably pansexual). Sexuality is integral to your status as a misunderstood emo. You must make it your job to keep people guessing about your sexual preferences. Tell your father that you want to get married within the year and then bring an emo boy home the next night and rid him on the coffee table in the lounge just before your Dad gets home.
• Only ever kiss people of the same sex in public. Kissing privately is a waste of time.
• As I outlined earlier, it’s best to declare yourself pansexual. Pansexual’s are basically allowed to fuck everything that moves (and some things that don’t). Pansexuality is a growing trend throughout the emo world and it’s set to outgrow bisexuality by 2010.

Emo Clothing and Fashion

• Black is the order of the day here. We recommend shoplifting from thrift stores as it means you’ll be able to save all of your money for developing your alcoholism. Besides the guilt from stealing from the poor will make self-harm all the more entertaining at a later stage!
• Apply as much eye makeup as you can and in any shape possible. It doesn’t really matter, they aren’t any set rules here. Try to look like Ziggy Stardust after he’s been fucked by an elephant.



• If you’re a lazy mofo who’s short on creativity then you might want to go for the band hoodie and t-shirt options. You can make a half-assed stab at masking your laziness by tie-dying the bottom of your jeans. Or by coloring your hair blue, green or read.

Personality

• Remember as an emo you should not have a personality. It’s completely forbidden. If you are found uttering something halfway witty you’ll be immediately be carted off by Gerard Way’s droogs and placed under house arrest until you admit that you’ve been a bad boy/girl.
• Public panic attacks are in vogue and throwing them regularly in crowded places will win you respect of your peers. If you can’t summon a panic attack, try smashing your head repeatedly off of the sidewalk. If anyone tries to stop you, drop your pants and take a big steaming shit right there and then and roll about in it shamelessly.
• As an emo it’s extremely unfashionable to harbor any pipe-dreams of getting married. Or ever being happy for that matter. If you’re smiling too much then you are probably too happy and should rectify this immediately by either burning down a room in your house or converting to Zen Buddhism (the religion of the miserable bastard).
• The unwritten rule of emo is to treat your parents like shit. Remember they were the ones that created you! They are responsible for absolutely everything that’s gone wrong in your life so far and it was all for a quick fuck in the dark that was seriously inadequate anyway. You should spend at least 34 hours a month berating your parents face-to-face.. Leave suicide notes around the house and bloodied shirts. Tell them that once you’ve raised enough money from being a whore that you’ll leave the house and work full time in a titty bar.
• Why not form an emo band called ‘Bleeders Digest’?

Remember Jesus doesn’t love you and you’re going to die!

But yeah I don’t really understand the point in the whole Emo thing. Grown men have been crying in public for generations. Just look at Morrissey for Christ’s sake. He’s been weeping ever since Johnny Marr walked out for refusing to suck him off after a show. Why invent another useless label?

Emo kids come in all different shapes and sizes. Most of them have truly shit hair as standard though.

Anyway over the next few weeks I’m gonna take more time to investigate the emo subculture to see how it differs from goth (if at all). If I’m lucky I might ever bag myself an Emo Kid to run some tests on, although whether or not this is desirable is up for debate. After all they’d probably end up moving in with me, contributing nothing to house keeping, smearing their own blood all over my bathroom walls and sleeping to mid afternoon.

Edam

I’ve always found the Wax to be a complete burden. You’d be sitting there cutting bits off it and all of a sudden you’d come to the red part and you’d be a bit lost for words. Usually I end up with a slice which contains half wax and half cheese and in that situation I just eat it. It’s the easiest way really. I’m just worried about the prospect of one day shitting a major wax ball. That could cause some serious anal complaints at some point in the future. It won’t stop me from eating them though.

Cheddar

It’s the old favourite isn’t it? Frankly I’m quite bored of it. It’s something your ma would always buy for the sandwiches and it just become too commonplace for it be exciting. I do still have the odd bit of it now and again just for nostalgia’s sake, nothing more. There are other cheeses out there that seriously kick its ass though. Most of them do in fact.

Danish Blue

Everytime I eat Danish blue I can hear my arteries close over just a little bit more. It’s terrifying. You bite into it and you know your chlorestrol score is going to go up by about 100 points. Regardless, it’s fucking tasty. I wouldn’t buy a whole block of it though. Instead I prefer to buy the little squares you can get in pic n mixes. Usually I’d just go down to the Co-op and buy some of it from the Cheese Pic N Mix section. You can get about 5 cubes for £1 which is incredible value.

Gouda

I could never really tell the difference between this and Edam. I think Gouda is Edam’s pailer less pronounced cousin. That said, I can have no complaints as it is a tasty little number. Goes well with a glass of chardonnay after spending a hard day moping around the house.

Leerdammer

Don’t believe the hype. Leerdammer is shite. I first heard of this during an episode of Midsommer Murders, I believe they were the sponsors. From the commercial it looked like heaven and I used to spend hours in Tesco trying to find it without much luck. I finally found it one day in Sainsburys and was so excited about the prospect of finally tasting it that I went out to the car and opened the container and began eating it before starting the car’s engine. I ended up throwing the package out of the window in disgust. It really isn’t that nice.

Camembert

Fuck, Camembert is an odd one isn’t it? It’s hardly the prettiest thing to look at in the world. There’s something about its texture that is instantly appealing. You bite into it and inside the tough curd is this chewy bit which is quite excellent. I try to swallow this down whenever I can with a nice glass of wine as the aftertaste tends to remind me of paint stripper.

Feta

Urgghhhhh. Is this actually cheese? It reminds me of cubified bile. Seriously, it is that bad. It’s like putting your own vomit in a freezer and shaking salt and vinegar all over it and eating it back in. It really isn’t pleasant. It didn’t stop me from eating it though. I mean I spent about £2 on this stuff and I wanted value for my money. Besides after a while I thought I was growing used to the taste but I was just fooling myself however.

Jarlsberg

It’s a novelty cheese and nothing more. There just isn’t really a discernable taste to it at all. If I want a cheese with holes in it I’ll get out the cordless drill and start making my own thank you very much. I mean how fucking presumptious are the manufacturers of this shite? It’s kinda like the polo mint thing. They are trying to reel you in with this less is more bullshit but it won’t stick with Guthers! Oh no!

Drunken Hero : Alright Bob?

Robin : Don’t call me Bob you fucknut.

Drunken Hero : Sorry, can I call you Guthers?

Robin : I don’t particularly care…….

Drunken Hero : Alright Guthers, what have you been at recently?

Robin : ~looks perplexed. stops before answering~ Is that meant to be a trick question?

Drunken Hero : No…………I was just asking for fucks sake. Look there’s no need to be so bloody uptight! I just want to know how the recording of the album went.

Robin : It went well. That’s all you need to know.

Drunken Hero : Alright………..I’ve heard you live in France these days, have you seen Eric Cantona about at all?

Robin : For fucks sake.

Drunken Hero : What?

Robin : I’m starting to wonder why the fuck I came here, you’ve asked me nothing but shite so far…….

Drunken Hero : Well to be fair Robin, you’ve shot me down everytime I’ve tried to steer the conversation towards the new album, which is why you are here. What else am I meant to ask you about?

Robin : ~stares blankly~

Drunken Hero : Alright, how did you come up with the title for the album?

Robin : Can we get back to Eric Cantona?

Drunken Hero : I thought you didn’t want to talk about him………….

Robin : I do now, thats all that matters.

Drunken Hero : Ok, do you know whats with his new look? He’s beginning to look more and more like Gary Sinise out of Forrest Gump every day. After he got his legs chopped off that is. Are you a big fan of his work?

Robin : Who Sinise or Cantona?

Drunken Hero : Cantona.

Robin : No, he was shite.

Drunken Hero : I see…………Have you been listening to any new music recently?

Robin : Not really, I’ve no time.

Drunken Hero : Ok. Do you mind if I ask you a question about the Cocteau Twins?

Robin : Ok…..

Drunken Hero : How did you get that guitar noise in Wax and Wane on Garlands? It sounds like someones wanking off a tiger with a wheel brace in an alleyway.

Robin : Next question.

Drunken Hero : Would you like to hear a recording I made?

Robin : Not particularly.

Drunken Hero : I think you’d like it, it’s a short Garlands medley.

Robin : I don’t particularly care. Play it if you must.

Drunken Hero : Ok I will. ~plays Garlands medley~

Robin : Ok. If you stop playing that shite I’ll allow you to ask me about the album, Ok?

Drunken Hero : Righto. Who produced the album?

Robin : ~enraged~ Who the fuck do you think produced it?

Drunken Hero : I was only asking………

Robin : Next question.

Drunken Hero : When was the last time you visited East Kilbride?

Robin : ….Why the fuck would I want to visit that shithole?

Drunken Hero : I don’t know, isn’t that where you came from?

Robin : Are you trying to be funny?

Drunken Hero : No, I’ve been told that about 95% of all of the bands who came out of Scotland in the early 80’s were from East Kilbride. I assumed………

Robin : Well whoever told you was fucking wrong.

Drunken Hero : Right….so where did you come from?

Robin : Falkirk

Drunken Hero : Ah they have a football team there don’t they?

Robin : Yeah.

Drunken Hero : And they are pretty shit aren’t they?

Robin : No. Yeah. Actually I don’t care. Next question.

Drunken Hero : Would you consider joining the Jesus and Mary Chain if they reformed?

Robin : No.

Drunken Hero : For fucks sake. Why am I even bothering here? Do you fancy going down to the local to hassle some broads?

Robin : No.

Drunken Hero : Ok, do you fancy coming down to the local and watch me hassle some broads?

Robin : No.

Drunken Hero : If you say no one more time, I’m gonna put that fucking Garlands medley on again.

Robin : Do it if you want, I’m leaving.

Drunken Hero : Aye well then, fuck off. And I hope your album charts at Number 1001010101001!

Robin : Are you starting?

Drunken Hero : No.

Robin : It sounds like it.

Drunken Hero : Well you must be fucking deaf.

Robin : Are you questioning my ability to create music?

Drunken Hero : No I’m just saying that you are fucking deaf.

Robin : Well I’m not. I’m away here. And by the way it’s impossible for my album to chart at 1001010101001. Theres only a Top 40 in England.

Drunken Hero : Aye well, there you go. You learn something new every day don’t you?

Robin : Aye.

~Guthers at this point storms out and is never to be seen again by me~

Goth Name : Captain Cavemouth

Rank : Lieutenant-Colonel

Joined the forces : 1992

Thom Yorke has always been closely associated with weird. He looks weird, he sings weird and he probably smells weird too. This is not down to shaky parenting or air pollution. It is down to the fact that he is an uber-goth at heart.

He comes over so bloody miserable on Radiohead LP’s as the rest of the band will not allow him record an album choc-a-bloc full of darkwave classics. That is why their new album is taking so long. Him and Robert Smith are doing what Severin and the latter did in the early 1980’s, they are forming a shite side project which will likely only last one album and will allow both to create a godawful album that no one in their right mind will listen to.

Yorke is currently back in the studio with Radiohead which probably means that he is thinking of leaving the Goth hierarchy for good. Some of the members lower down in the hierarchy have been calling for Thom’s resignation for a long time now, citing Radioheads Kid A album to be far too radio-friendly for it to be considered a true underground classic.

Whether Thom stays or leaves, his presence as a Goth will have left a sour taste in a lot of peoples mouths.

Goth Name : Widehook

Rank : Lieutenant-Colonel

Joined the forces : 1976

You probably had already suspected it. And it will not come as a big shock to you that the Hookster is in fact a massive Goth. If you’ve heard of any of New Order’s recent performances you will have noticed how they seem to be rather unwilling to play any New Order material. It is Hook’s mission to transport the band back to 1979 so that he can become the new divaesque gloom merchant of the band.

Hooky is the head Goth chef. He’s been practising food preparation for over two decades yet he still cannot master the cheese toastie much to Robert Smith’s annoyance. Smith who is eager to see Pete produce some good grub for once has invested in over £10,000 worth of kitchen equipment, cooking lessons and recipe books for the New Order bassist, without any noticable improvement in his cooking ability.

He’s basically shit 10 grand down the bowl. Imagine how many big macs he could have bought with that? Those would have kept Bob going for just over a fortnight. Now he going to be left hungry forever until the Goths manage to bring in a semi competent chef and frankly what are the odds of that? Most Gothic types love being starved, they love the eroticism behind it all and as much as they may complain about their rumbling bellys deep inside they want Hooky’s tenure as head chef to last forever if possible.

Goth Name : The Archbishop of Lard

Rank : Lieutenant-Colonel

Joined the forces : 1984

Smith is by far the most popular member of the Goth brigade. His career as podgy lead singer of Goth rockers the Cure has won him and the Goth movement a hell of a lot of converts.

The singer is currently head of discipline for the Goths. If any Goth is caught grinning even momentarily, Bob telephones the men in black coats who lead the merry criminal kicking and screaming into the back of a black ambulance which heads back home to the House Of Goth.

The victim is then strapped to a stretcher, left in a cold cellar for days where they are subjected to torture from Bobeth. Usually this takes the form of Bob dressing up in a skin-tight PVC nurses uniform, suggestively munching away at a battered Crunchie whilst his victim, whose eyes are usually crazy with hunger tracks every munch that Smith takes of the bar.

Robert is somewhat famous for his ties with the Nestle corporation. There have been rumours recently that Smith is interested in acquiring the company for a fee of in excess of £130 million. If his bid is successful Bob will be able to feed his inquenchable lust for Kit-Kats on a permanent basis. Expect to never see the Cure perform live again. Expect Nestle to start producing chocolate coated bats within a month. Expect goths all around the country to balloon in size in salute to the hairy one.

Goth Name : The Short Dank Cunt

Rank : Lieutenant-Colonel

Joined the forces : 18??

When it comes to being purely evil there are no better examples than “The Short Dank Cunt” a.k.a. Paul Daniels. Ever since he was a toddler Daniels derived much pleasure from microwaving cats. In fact he was featured a record number of 26 times in a national tabloid for such exploits.

Daniels was granted an honorary role as Lieutentant-Colonel of the goths sometime in the 18th century. Since then his lack of motivation and general shiteness have seen him make no advances up the ladder of gothdom.

Daniels is often the target of Robin Guthries practical jokes. On April Fools day last year Guthers tampered with Paul’s brakes leading to his car careering head on into a tree at 120mph. Daniels miraculously emerged from the accident injury free. Many people believe that Satan himself intervened. And they are probably right y’know.

There have been many efforts to oust Daniels from the movement for various different reasons. Many Goths subscribe to the belief that if people see that Paul is a goth, the majority of the public will therefore assume that all Goths are like Daniels i.e. midgety bald cunts. Which may or may not be close to the truth.

Goth Name : Steak Knife

Rank : Lieutenant-Colonel

Joined the forces : 1982

Many would consider Guthers role as Lieutentant-Colonel of the goths as an unlikely one. In the past he has expressed his distaste of people from the scene. He was also responsible for the execution of over 100 vegetarians during his reign as the axe wielding maniac of the dream-pop band the Cocteau Twins.

Do not let his everyman image deceive you. Guthrie is second in command behind Christ as the upholder of the Goth manifesto. He acts as servant and bodyguard for Jesus and can often be seen holding up fast food outlets and off licences all around the country in order to ensure that his leader’s demands are met.

There has of course been much speculation about Guthries dedication to the cause. When not serving the Lords every need he sits around watching daytime television whilst trying to invent a computer program that will predict the winning lottery numbers without fail every week.

Guthrie also refuses to attend the annual Goth black-tie dinner. He can instead be found at home, sitting on the toilet wearing a black robe and crown praying that Christ will one day choke on a pea at dinner so that he can take over his role as Colonel.

Goth Name : El Cid “The Dark Swarvy Version”

Rank : Colonel

Joined the forces : 0AD

Every organisation has to have a top-dog. A player to call the shots, if you will. Little do his followers know but Jesus was and remains King-Goth. Ever wondered what Jesus was at during his 40 nights in the desert? I’ll give you a clue, he was not in the desert. He was back in Jerusalem trying on P.V.C. corsets.

Judas was the only disciple to ever witness the Saviour in drag, and being a hateful sod decided to betray the Lord because of his eccentricity.

Most Goths dispute Jesus’s position as Colonel in the scheme of things. And many attempts have been made on his life. Fortunately any such assassination attempts have failed mainly due to Jesus’s body being caked heavily in make-up preventing any bullets from injuring him.

Jesus used to share the role of top-dog with his other two incarnations, Jehova and the Holy Spirit. Jehova resigned as co-colonel in 1981 after Christ confessed his love for the Cure’s seminal album Seventeen Seconds. The Father, incensed at his Son’s questionable taste in popular music decided to foreit his position with immediate effect. It is rumoured that Jehova now runs a god awful circus act in India.

Unable to cope with the loss of the Father, the Holy Spirit turned to Contreau to allievate his problems. His alcoholism lead to some rather strange managerial decisions being made including the creation of The Mission and Clan Of Xymox. He resigned from the hierarchy in the early 1990’s.

Rumours abound that the Holy Spirit is trying to re-enter the Goth fray after having a boozing session with Robert Smith last Saturday at the Purple Turtle.

Unless you’ve been stranded in a cupboard for the last 500 years you will have encountered a Goth. Most consider Goths to be harmless, soulless creatures who masturbate over Anne Rice novels and Jesus and Mary Chain LP’s. This is far from the complete picture.

The purpose of this page is to inform the ignorant of the threat that goths pose to society and the various tactics that they will employ to try to get you to join their ranks. In due course we will also outline the real hierarchy of goths.

Goths? Organised?

That’s right, many insiders consider the goths to be the new Fourth Reich, a highly efficient unit of posers, loners and whingers who are ready to enslave the world with their horrificly bad make-up, poetry and clothes.

The True Hierarchy of Gothdom

having a wail of a life without richey? disgusted at everyones inability to understand the cultural value of sartre? offload your vitrol at richeys archive of pain!

Oh Richey! I learnt how to wail Sleepflower in F minor today, just for YOUUUUUU!!!!!

Richey, I was looking for you in my tumble dryer again and I got my head jammed in it! And my big brother came along and turned it on to make me cry!

Oh Reeeeechhyy! I wish I was 4st 7lb like you instead of 14st 7lb!! I wrote 4 real on my arm again with a markerrrrrr! I can’t scrub it off because its permanent and my skin hurtsss!

Oh no! The intrinsic despair of this moment is getting me down! I must go off and read some Camus and cry for Richeyy!!

Last night I. Sat up until 4am listening to the holy bible and crying into my oranges, drinking vodka until the tears were streaming out of my eyes!! God I miss you boy!

richeypoos, smear some of your welsh cheddar over my soul ryvita! i’ll give you a chain of daisys for it!

the video commences in style with jokke playing the opening riff of the song on the piano. on the top of his piano lies his bottle of beer and his bowlar hat. once he finishes the piano piece he jumps up and crowns himself with his hat. he then begins to growl like a big nordic ice bear at the camera, strutting after it as if it were his dinner. he continues unabaited and he gains and gains on the camera. but before he can catch it…….

out of absolutely nowhere the video changes gear and it takes off from where bohemian rhapsody left off. jokke is joined by his long time comrades may irene aasen and petter pogo. notice how above they keep changing places? this happens consistently throughout this part of the video. in the third shot from the left petter pogo declares himself the king of nordland. and jokke doesnt care. he supports mr pogo’s claims, and rightly so! see jokke is from oslo. which is in south norway. and is the capital. making him the king of norway. so such matters as the king of nordland are unimportant.

we exit to the bar scene where jokke is lying with his head down tanked on ol/beer. notice how he is sitting adjacent to the beer pump?

well…..in the next shot he isn’t there. he falls over! and whereas most men would begin coughing up their lungs jokke continues. continues growling for his beloved home country and his beer and his ice bears. this man sings from his testicles.

jokke soon recovers and is more than ready to give his stamp of approval to pogo’s magnificent hat. mr pogo swings his hip’s like only a carpenter can. its beautiful. and all the time the hat stays perfectly perched on top of his head. it doesnt tilt. it just stays there. he then turns his head to begin winking at mr pogo (we don’t see this as its off camera). jokke who is still mildly intoxicated after about 30 pints of pilsner attempts to hijack pogo’s guitar (or is he just feeling it up) but this doesn’t fade pogo in the slightest who continues on and on!

whereas most men would be very displeased about another interupting their heroic guitar solo, mr pogo laughs it off and both him and jokke begin growling into the microphone in unison. like two vikings after a spree of beer and blonde dames. suddenly out of nowhere may springs up behind the gentlemen and its like a family union. like the sailor who came back from his long long 5 year journey with many fish and tales for his wife. may has not fish or tales for jokke but she still makes her prescence felt.

just when you thought things had reached their peak, jokke goes up another gear. notice how above there is two jokke’s then three jokke’s? its remarkable. and just to make it even more remarkable 3rd angry jokke begins growling at smiling talking jokke. no doubt he is recalling many of his past beer glories to himself. it is important not to miss reflective jokke who is over staring at the window. notice how he is completely unfazed by the oncoming train. this man has balls. uber balls. uber norsk balls

just when you thought everything was winding down jokke picks up his cane and starts dancing with it. not just any sort of dancing mind. he twirls and twirls it. and twirls it. this is what beer can do to a man. not to any old man though. one must have the seed of virility born in their bellies. jokke had the share of about 50 men in his belly.

notice how mr pogo’s hat is still perfect after all of the above. this truly is a bloody miracle. the man looks very sinister, like he’s about to slaughter many goats. but he wouldnt as he has a good heart. and a very good hat. but i’m sure his heart rivals his hat for goodness. the last scene is of jokke and he is still dancing. he is crouched down and is swinging his body around like an old man. it is very endearing and takes me back to the old country. if only every video could be this good.

thank you jokke and the valentines.

yes it is finally here. the drunken hero’s tribute to richey is complete and you can download it exclusively here.

RICHEY IS ALIVE

Richey is alive (x 4)

On an overdose of chocolate cake and orderves
You finally realised how much they got on your nerves.
Sean’s pungent farts
Wire’s womanly smicker

Your youthful looks were your passport to Vienna
Where you immediately started on a 4 day long bender.
And now you’ve forgotten
about where you belong

Richey would you like another pancake?
They’ve got almonds in them.
I made them just for you
And this song too….

applied for a job as a red coat in a holiday home in minsk today. i need to get away from that vulture. he’s been haunting me in a ever worsening cycle of nightmares. nightmares which corride what is left of my tarnished soul. i spent 5 hours today crying into a open packet of frozen fish fingers. i can no longer handle this. today i have been having destructive thoughts again.

i really fucking regret shaving my wig off. i was walking through cardiff today and saw an italian selling candy floss to children. if only i could have stuck my head in the bowl i would have been left with a kinky hair-do. i just can’t see a way around it. unless i can somehow hijack the candy floss stall.

i think i’ll do it you know. i have nothing else to lose. once i have my new pink flossy wig i will be a born again hero on the music screen. the only problem is that fucking vulture. i mean does he even like candy floss? if he does i can see him eating it all just to try to hijack the small piece of happiness i have in my life at the moment. but at least if i have the machine i can remake my wig. i’ll have to ring james soon and tell him to warn sean that if he comes within a meter of my wig i will kill him. that rat bastard would eat anything. anyhow i am starting to perk up a little.

it has been a while since i have had a good dance. i mean i know in the past i have ripped the piss out of my home nation. i’m starting to come to terms with who i am. i cannot play the guitar for shit, but like 99.9% of welsh men i can out-tango any old fucker! i might call nick around now and ask him if he fancies a few shandies and a bit of a shuffle to the tom jones best of.

27th january 1995

failure……depressed, i got word back from minsk today, they’ve reject me on the grounds that i am a complete fucking mentalist. such is the trials of life i guess. and on a much brighter note diary, i finally did it! i managed to successfully hijack the stall and i couldn’t fucking be happier. this particular stall can make candy floss in 10 different flavours.

10 different flavours! fucking hell man. now i can have a technicolour wig. although i’m thinking of maybe just combining two colours. pink on my left side and blue on my right. this will be my best every attempt at self expression. blue + pink hair. fucking hell. albert camus would be in tears right now.

nick didnt come around last night. he said he had to go to the A+E again with Sean.. that daft bastard is always there. he’s either in because he has fallen down the stairs or he’s bitten off more than he can chew. i mean i don’t think he actually chews at all. there was one time when we were playing a gig at the marquee during the early days and during a drum fill in motorcycle emptiness he began choking on a plate of spaghetti. i mean a normal person would eat it with a fork but he just hammered the whole thing down his fucking throat. he can be a bloody embarassment. last night he was in hospital again because of his ongoing addiction to pasta. for christ sakes he needs to get his bloody jaws wired together!

anyhow nick was pretty upset about it all last night. he says that sean has come forward with a lyric about last night called 10,000 worms. apparently he nearly died. he had a near death experience were he met a talking hot dog of light and was sent back of earth because he tried to bite it. fucking idiot.

28th january 1995

i got a phone call from an excited sounding james earlier this morning. we were talking on the phone for about 3 hours and all he wanted to talk about was this fucking masterpiece that sean had written. i can’t believe it. i don’t want to hear anymore about this shit at all. i mean how good could it be. i am he lyricist in the band and its something that i do very well. if sean becomes the new lyricist what will i do? i wouldn’t mind becoming the new bez but i’m afraid i cannot dance to most of james’s songs. too fast and brash. i can only dance to sinatra and shirley bassey numbers (of course not forgetting to mention my personal favourite tom jones).

i’ll need to phone james later and find out more about this situation. before it develops into a crisis. i mean honestly, how fucking good could a lyric with such a fucking awful title be? there is no point in speculating it will only hinder my own creative flow. what i think i’ll do tonight is write a whole album of songs about candy floss and wigs. its becoming a bit of a fetish i know but ever since i gave up the vodka i have had a lot of time on my hands. anyhow bye for now.

29th january 1995

and here are the…….ahem lyrics…..

10,000 hell bent worms
down my throat
wrigging around
making me choke

i went to heaven
and was met by a hotdog
a tasty looking fellow
and a friendly one too.

spaghetti choke – made me boke
boke boke boke, boke boke boke
back up to heaven with the hot dogs,
burgers and talking chips

10,000 hell bent worms
down my throat
wrigging around
making me choke

i bit the fucking traitor
and he planted my arse out
and told me in no uncertain terms
to write this fucking down.

james has already finished work on 10,000 worms, this is pretty embarassing. he sent a demo copy of the song away to the NME and they’ve been raving about it all night apparently. i’ve expressed my concern to nicky and he says he’s going to have a word with sean later to see if he can maybe sway him to write some new words for the song.

and i’ve just received a phone call from nicky now. apparently seans went on a violent rampage. he can be a right touchy bastard at times. he’ll be alright in a couple of days i suppose. the last time he went into a huff was after james took a piss at his home and left the seat up. he went missing for 3 days. apparently he went for a run down the M4 bollock naked hurling traffic cones at on-coming cars. the police found him in a ditch covered in dirt and love bites. hopefully he stays away longer this time – i have enough time to write another 4st 7lb. yet i can’t stop thinking about candy floss.

seanus during his 3 day m4 rampage

i’ve been eating it all day. its getting serious. my teeth are about to drop out. well it feels that way anyway. i can’t sleep and i couldnt honestly give less of a fuck. i am on a permanent sugar rush, i haven’t felt this good in years! i am off now to tescos to buy some breadcrumbs. battered candy floss will most definitely be a rather tasty prospect!

30th january 1995

in the past 3 days i have put on a total of 2 stone. ah well i’m still on a high and i’m enjoying life all the more for it. the police found sean earlier this morning, apparently he was caught in newport town centre pestering aled jones for an arm wrestle. he is still in police custody and i’ve convinced both nicky and james to refuse to bail him out (i told them i saw him sniff their underwear one morning, worked a fucking treat). now i can begin rewriting 10000 worms! oh what an epic it will be!

anyhow my spending (on the you know what) has risen astronomically over the last week. i’ve had to lift £300 each day, just to ensure that i have enough ingredients to get me through the day. last night i had a somewhat perverse dream. i dreamt that i got a new dog – a poodle this time and that i put him in the candy floss machine. mr vulture then came along and ate all of the fur off him. i woke up and wept for a few hours. sometimes i think this is bordering upon obsession. i can handle it. i think.

31st january 1995

bad news, really bad news. today sean broke out of prison and came around and smashed the stall to pieces. what the fuck am i meant to do? how the fuck am i meant to survive without it? i should have known that this would happen, that bastarding twat is like houdini. i mean when the band first started james tried to get rid of him by tying him to his bass drum and lowering him out of the tour bus into the severn. we heard a mighty great splash and we all had a bit of a laugh and when we got home he was sitting there soaking wet, forcing salt and vinegar crisps into his mouth. he didn’t say a word all afternoon.

i am sitting here quaking, i don’t know what the fuck to do at all. tonight i am going to stay over in london with james in preperation for our tour of the usa which starts early next month. i think that will prove to be a distraction. i keep on looking up ceefax to see if the police have caught him but there is no sign. oh fuck someone is at the door.

1st february 1995

i’ve decided that i am going to leave the band and the country so i can continue with my candy floss consumption in peace. i’ve had enough of the band making snide remarks behind my back about my spiralling weight and shoddy dental hygeine. i think i’m going to go to calcutta. i hear it is the candy floss capital of the world. apparently they make whole buildings out of the stuff over there. i am very excited. i would feel a little sorry for the leaving the guys but hey! i’m fucked off my head on sugar.

over and out. richey.

frou frou fish in mid morning traffic jams

whilst buckling my trousers
in a pub in wimbledon
it clearly dawned upon me
that i was born to lose
my eyes were sunken
my pubic region shaven
with ill baited breath i
scratched my bare dimpled bollocks

at day, and night i came……

my wrinked hands will solve all your ills!
oh…..nausea.

soothed by the thought of kinky masterbation
and with my devilish eyes set upon an elderly woman
aligning my pink crusader as close it can be so
all of the time i maximise the pleasure by

pulling it rounder (tighter)
rounder! (harder)
rounder! (harder)
pulled rounder!

liz was not impressed. in a fiery interview between the couple in the winter 1983 edition of the grangemouth times liz was reported to have said “yer a fucking bastard you are guthrie! you look nothing like siouxsie! you may be able to pout like her but you’ve got nothing on me!”

what sparked the row is as yet unknown but many insiders have reported that liz found a bottle of peroxide inside robin’s coat pocket along with a note which apparently read “fuck you fraser, once my hairs blonde you wont be able to take away my birthright. i was born to be siouxsie. you, my dear woman are nothing but a treacherous leech! sure you may have a vocal range that rivals jarvis cocker’s! you do not however possess what it takes to be a worldwide phenomenon!”

at the beginning of 1984, bassist “billy boy” heggie decided that he had enough of this hilarious in-fighting and thought that it would be best if he left the band and instead audition for a role in scottish television’s new soft porn serial “take the high road”. guthrie – who was extremely upset by the loss of his close friend decided to make up for any ill feelings between them by writing the theme tune to the show. the new “take the high road” theme tune was an instant classic and made its way into the uk single charts – debuting at #5.

delighted with the singles success the band decided that it was now time to begin composing their own hits. since elizabeth was too busy compiling new, comical ways to inflict pain upon the gruffster, the lyrical duties fell down to robin. he did not waste time getting stuck in either. his first lyric “ack aye guinness” (commonly mispelt as aikea guinea) was a vicious attack on a deaf bar man who would not supply him with his drink of choice. guthrie stated in the NME “yeah, my first lyric. its a bit of a fucking shambles really. at the time i wrote it i was sinking about 30-40 pints a day and you can sort of tell that from the coarseness of the prose”

the chorus to the song, seems to be an impassioned plea from a man at his wits end.

fuck, please
please
guiness, lager ahoy!
dont make me fucking slap yer!
he he he he he he

a week after its release “ach aye guinness” went straight to the top spot of the uk charts, leaving both the public and the band spellbound. after interviewing a key representative of the british public for the music weekly melody maker, the interviewee claimed “no one bought it, in fact i’ve never heard of the band or the song, are they death metallists?”. things looked rather fishy. how did the song get to number one if not a single soul bought it? cue crimewatch.

on the april 1985 edition of the british crime appeal programme crimewatch, a bearded man of “stocky build and poetic tongue” could be seen ramraiding over 50 different HMV outlets across the country with a forklift truck. police are still oblivious to the man’s real identity, although they are optimistic of finding their man due to the wealth of evidence left behind at the scene. according to derek cock of the metropolitian police “16 empty packets of smoky bacon crisps, a can of tuna and a note reading ‘fucking ell raymonde, we’re going to the top!’.were found on location at the glasgow branch”.

police investigations aside, the band were very much on a high. around this time liz was drinking around a quart of gin a day, guthrie around a quart of gin an hour and their new recruit simon, well he was sober for just a while after this. the band found raymonde on a murky street corner in skegness performing a strikingly coherent version of captain beefhearts “one life, one cock” on acoustic guitar. although the band were looking for a bassist, they decided they liked the cut of raymonde so much that he could take over guthers job as lead guitarist, relegating sir gristle-a-lot to keyboards and bass.

tension was building within the camp. 4ad were constantly demanding an album. robin was constantly demanding curling tongs. none of the band could be bothered. raymonde was already tired of the in-fighting and decided to spend as little time as possible with the waring couple. he dedicated most of his waking hours to leggy blondes, rum and duran duran concerts.

in a vain last stab at success, mr guthrie attempted to ease pressure from 4ad by recording himself wanking off a guitar for around 40 minutes. he decided to secretely record liz fraser’s insane ramblings by bugging her with a microphone. guthrie went on to explain “lorelei – how i laughed at that one. she was arguing with a dustbin. i mean she’s always arguing with household appliances. she tries to speak in their own language. i mean i’ve spent many an hour trying to explain to her that she’s not going to get any sense out of them but she just won’t listen”

the album was completed within a couple of hours and was released to the market under the title “She May Have The Voice Of God But She Argues With Frigging Kitchen Appliances!”. the album completely bombed and the band decided to split soon afterwards.

all three members now work in chip shops in grangemouth. how fucking romantic.

many a fine scotsman can bare testimony to the fact that they love drink. in fact all of them can. scotland is what can be deemed as a cesspool of stale ale, belle and sebastian tribute bands and haggis. this was particularly the case in the late 80’s, where a bunch of young starlets from a god forsaken oil refinery town decided they would attempt to change the world through their unique style of incoherent ramblings and glittery poguesque guitar lines. robin guthrie of the cocteau twins is considered by some to be one of the best lyricists on the planet. throughout this section we will explore mr guthrie’s work and the subsequent motivation behind it. so fellows! strap yourselves in prepare yourself for quite the ride!

With the help of dearest Itchy we have formulated a few excellent ways to excuse your self destructive ways whilst causing your loved ones minimal distress!

Excuses Which Will Go Down Well With All The Family

• I drill holes in my skull in order to mourn Black and Deckers decision to withdraw their world renowned saw “King Cutter” from the market. It could cut through tiles, glass and flesh beautifully
• I hurt myself for the Bolivian farmers who have lost over half of their yearly crop to drought. Consider each swipe of the razor a small sacrfice for each ear of corn lost to the unforgiving earth
• Octave Mirbeau’s debut album “My Singed Cock” highlighted the practicalities of jamming my manhood in a toaster through the use of subliminal messages on the epic track “Get Yer Dick In That Toaster”
• The Miners Strike effected me in such a profound way that I have decided to start a Hunger strike until all of the coal mines are reopened. The exception is that I am allowed to eat coal and broken glass.
• In order to celebrate the sacrifices made by our feminist sisters throughout the ages, I have decided to place a giant cork up my birth canal, listen to Sinead O’Connor CD’s and dedicate my life to fist fights, automobiles and beer



• I bludgen myself repeatedly with a gardening spade in recognition of the fact that I will never taste Alan Titchmarsh’s cock
• In order to commemorate the death of Itchy’s beloved hound Snoopy, I decided to watch the Beethhoven series of films back to back. By the time I’d reached the end of Beethoven II I had shaved all of my bodily hair off, bitten my fingers down to matchstick shards and mailed my spare cock to Itchy’s parents along with a sympathy card.
• I stapled my testicles to my television set after gaining a brief glance of Carol Vorderman’s twod on the hit reality tv show “I’ll Show You My Twod And The Way To A Ruptured Ball Sack”
• I gouge holes into my skin in order to free the gin swigging micro lephrachauns which reside within my veins. They tell me that they want out again tonight so they can go and see a stunning reproduction of the glorious crime drama “Les Miserables” in Belfast Grand Opera House
• Where we came from we had nothing. We were brought up in a complete vaccum and could not relate to anything. We were forcefed toast and jammy dodgers at breakfast. We had to walk 50 miles to get to the closest cinema. There were no hospitals in the Valleys, only tents pitched in fields rented from farmers. I was born in such a tent. The midwife was a goat. All of my suicidal tendancies stem from that day. That horrible horrible day were farm animals mocked my naked tanned arse with their gloats and moos.

13 amusing ways to kill Bono of u2 (who’s real name happens to be bono vox monkhouse the third)

We are looking for more

1) Steal the Edge’s hat. Hide it in Bono’s dressing room. And wait……

2) Put him in a straightjacket then tie him to the back of a yacht. Coat his hair in breadcrumbs before releasing several million killer seagulls on to the tart.

3) Lock him in a padded cell and play a selection of Coldplay and Travis LP’s through the walls. He will have lost the will to live within an hour. If not, take him out of the cell and place his head in a toilet bowl. Flush until he stops breathing..

4) Get Anne Widdecombe to breastfeed him until either he runs out of puff or Widdi’s milky cocktail blows his head off.

5) After a U2 concert, approach him and ask for his autograph, instead of handing him a pen uppercut the bastard with a clothes iron.

6) Formulate a mathematical equation which indefinitely proves he is a complete tosser then send it to him via mail. He will die of grief.

7) Subject him to a year’s worth of anal probing. The day before the probing ends shove a glockenspiel up his chufty and watch the bastard wheeze.

Invite him to lunch with John Prescott, sit next to John and feel his leg. If he looks at you stare in disgust at Bono..the fireworks shall commence.

9) Kidnap him. Pepper his testicles/head/liver for 10 minutes in a preheated oven before serving to a tribe of starving wolves/african children.

10) Kidnap him (yes again) and kidnap Yoko Ono. Place Bono and Ono into the same room and lock the door. Bono will have clawed his own eyes out within half an hour.

11) Beat him to death with his own sense of self satisfaction.

12) Invite him to the local heritage museum and acquire some popcorn from the confectioners stall. When in the commoners yard offer him some popcorn before lifting him up and slipping him through the mangle. Press neck until death.

13) Grab him and bung him into a time machine. Take him back to the heydey of the potato famine, remove him from the car and then ship him into a shopping trolley. Chisel “I have all of yer potatoes ye rotten starving irish bastards” into his forehead with a preheated sand wedge before wheeling him into Dublin town square. he’ll be hanged at traitors gate within a jiffy.

call 1 : download

richey cut me. cut me hard. cut me like a bar of soap. i can no longer feel my testicles. they are numb. numb like my swollen decaying black heart which will never be complete without the sensual touch of your loving razors. i am beginning to foam. i can feel my body beginning to shake like a washing machine. enter me richey. enter me hard. mount me like a legless camel. spit inside my body. let your vodka soaked tongue pirouhette with my red raw tonsils.

yours discreetly

—

call 2 : download

everytime i think of you richey i think of my mammoth like horns of love caressing your gaping harlot holes tenderly. i think of you and that harlot vulture, sitting drinking vodka whilst playing scrabble like true soul mates until dusk. fucking double fuck double fucking vulture vulture fuck fuck. i’m moist and getting moister, i’m fat and getting fatter, my semen is thicker than chip pan resin. my willy is swollen like a lead balloon. i’m expanding richey! ive grown to 5 and a half inches. i’m turning purple. my veins are looking like the main course tonight sonny jim!. i’m ready to begin pumping. pumping into you. pumping so hard that vodka will begin geysering out of your manly slots like eve marie saint in on the waterfront. under neon loneliness fucking simon price up his swollen chufty. blarbos extramango blingo wingo fucking dingo. simon fucking vulture fuck shitting bollocks