27 March 2002

On the rare occasions when the sun decides to poke its head out in Aberdeen, like a flasher exposing himself for the first time, it is a beautiful thing. Bob would probably compare it to a schoolgirl’s shaven clam, and there is no higher accolade than that. When the weather’s nice in Aberdeen, I can walk about without the bottoms of my trousers getting soaked and even the homeless people look less intimidating. Under the harsh yellow glare of mother nature’s light-bulb, everything looks better. In effect, it is the opposite of pulling a girl in the Palace, only to discover when the lights go on that it’s your own sister. Luckily, you’d already ploughed one into her in the darkest recess (of the Palace that is) before she recognised you. Bob has some interesting Palace-pulling stories of his own to tell on TW2. Believe me, they’re better than anything you’ll read on this page today. But then how am I supposed to compete with lines like ‘I see you’ve got a tongue piercing. Would you like another stud in your mouth?’ Yes, he did say that. And she might have declined, but the next one certainly didn’t.
I got up at 12 today, having generously decided to award myself the day off uni. I had a sore throat and cuts all down my arm and my head was still recovering from the excesses of the nite before. At least my spikes were still intact. After band practice, we’d gone to Yu for our chicken fried rice with pineapple, courtesy of our long-suffering record company. To ensure our appetites were sufficiently whetted for the feast ahead of us, we had a smoke during rehearsal. By the time we’d finished, Christy was playing CUNTS at the same speed as Clint Eastwood. The meal was fucking fucking ace, and so was the girl who was serving us. I like free things, even condoms from the Family Planning Clinic that I’ll never use. Last time I went there, they gave me a bag of black, extra-strong ones. That nite, I performed anal on my girlfriend for the first time. I didn’t use a condom though – a blowjob nicely cleans off any residue that’s left behind. After the chicken fried rice with pineapple extravaganza, we retired to my humble flat and imbibed beer and other substances as a post-meal comedown. We didn’t take any bad stuff of course, as we are specifically told not to in the contract: ‘The use of Class A drugs will be deemed to be in breach of the Agreement by the Company. The excessive consumption in relation to the Artist’s ability to perform or any other substance that may carry serious health risks may be deemed to be in breach of the Agreement by the Company.’ Even Viagra would seem to be off the menu then, as it carries more health risks than 100 smack-filled rusty syringes. Last time I tried popping some of the blue pills, I fucked so many times my foreskin was bleeding. It’s just as well I’m fond of pain for pleasure. Terry, especially, was concerned that at any moment Stephen might appear and demand a urine sample. Even Alan Baxter isn’t that paranoid. I don’t usually mention my band so much in these pages, but there’s been a lot happening over the last few weeks, or maybe it’s just that my girlfriend’s on the blob right now and there’s nothing else to write about. Since last week’s ‘Sirius are signed’ story in the Press & Journal, several other articles have appeared that are so poorly written, they make The Trash Whore Diaries look like a masterclass in journalism. The Gaudie, Aberdeen University’s student newspaper, featured the headline ‘Is Aberdeen the next Seattle?’. Like a midget suffering from premature ejaculation, it was short and brief, though at least they managed to sneak in one of my more printable quotes; ‘With the news that Britney Spears is now single, we couldn’t have asked for a better week.’ The Aberdeen Independent, a free newspaper that is read by bored housewives, (not a bad thing) went one better and included a foto. It also featured a quote from Hackpen Records boss Stephen Crabtree, the quote that all the other papers had used: ‘Their songs are catchy, they’ve got a great immature sense of humour and they look nothing like the indie bands that Scotland seems to be full of.’ Stephen never actually said this, I just made it up when writing the press release and attributed it to him, but he wholeheartedly approved. The article also spoke of us ‘impressing record company executives’ with our single. Hmm, we might be getting a free meal out of this, but it’s hardly EMI. We seem to be getting enough stick as it is from certain quarters for ‘signing to a bedroom label’, though ironically, the same people would have accused us of being punk sell-outs if we’d gone to a major. Like climbing out your 14-year-old girlfriend’s window to avoid her irate parents, only to get gored by the meatpaste-starved dog outside, sometimes you just can’t win. The Northern Scot, a weekly paper in the North of Scotland, included an ace picture of Terry screaming into the microphone and a comprehensive write-up. It even mentions The Pixies, as I’m sure Frank Black is a household name to all Northern Scot readers. ‘The band’s sound has been described as ‘The Sex Pistols and The Pixies engaged in a vicotin-fuelled arm-wrestle’.’ Yeah, by me. ‘Or, ‘Punk rock played by idiots’, as Kai puts it. ‘Most of our songs are about fancying our best friends’ mums and eating fast food. That’s not going to change now that we’re signed… When we first started out, we couldn’t even play our instruments. In fact I still can’t.’’ Well that bit’s true anyway. The high point of the article was another anecdote they picked up from the press release – Terry’s supposed mic stand sponsorship. ‘So exuberant are his on-stage antics that he has recently signed an endorsement deal with a microphone stand manufacturer to provide him with new equipment for each gig Sirius play.’ Oh if only it were true – we might actually make some money from playing gigs then. Having learned how easy it is to get pages of ‘I won’t cum in your mouth’-style lies printed in the paper, a thought has occurred to me: Why not send in a press release about The Trash Whore Diaries? ‘Church leaders are in uproar following a spate of underage sex crimes that have been attributed to an Aberdeen man’s website. ‘The Trash Whore Diaries’, as they are known, openly promote bestiality, incest and paedophilia. Said one shocked mother, who wished to remain anonymous, ‘I can’t understand it. My little girl Julia came home from school with pornographic material which she said she’d been given by Kai and Sleazy Bob. Now she insists on sleeping with the dog’’ Like a gonnorea-filled slut that’s been offered a one nite stand, I am sorely tempted – bad publicity can only be a good thing; just ask Monica Lewinsky. Sure, she never makes it as far as full penetrative sex with a man anymore, and every item of clothing she owns is stained with semen, but that’s the price of fame. I’m sure I could cope with it – my clothes are already blotched with cum and I’ve never lasted long enough for vaginal sex with my girlfriend either. Come to think about it, I always though I’d seen my chick before somewhere and that would explain her passion for cigars in her pussy. I’ve got Bill Clinton’s sloppy seconds! Does that make me famous? [Bob: No, it just means your tongue smells of presidential cum.]

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