It's all gone tits up!

Christ, that was a fucking week. It all began on Friday night when I went over to Manchester to meet up with Mainy and to see Wolves in the Throne Room. It was their last tour ever, so I had to be there. The gig was fucking excellent as they were last year. It's a shame they are splitting up as they play blistering shows. I had to be gone quick sticks after the show and dropped Mainy off in the centre of Manchester pissed out of his head and clutching a bag of cans. I assume he got home OK as I got a text off him the next day to say he was alive.

An amazing gig photo taken at Wolves in the Throne Room...

I had to get gone because I had to be up at the crack of sparrows to get down to that London to be picked up by Steve to be taken out to Thiepval on the Somme. We spent about an hour waiting for that Posh Bastard Dr. Kenyon to finally show up from Jon's wedding. He eventually arrived looking like he'd slept in his car. Pete was also in convoy and stuck his curly headed head into the crowd.

Fuck you England, I'm going to France!!

The digging in France was good as usual and as I haven't been there for a long time it was good to catch up with the Micks. All the boys were there and my team comprised of PC Plod, the Big C, sweet FA and Dog Bummer. We had been tasked with trying to sort out Jon's trench from the previous season. He was away with his new missus breaking beds in Bruges on their honeymoon, so I took full advantage of the situation to absolutely and completely fuck the trench up. Only kidding, after much sweating and swearing we realised that the trench had been fucked up by a large shell burst long before we got there, which made things quite difficult to work out what was going on.

Fucked

Anyway, that took a rear seat to the continuing musical journey of Justin and I. We decided to form a new band whilst out French side. A little perspective is needed here to put you in the picture. A band is only as good as its name. For instance, U2 is a shit name and U2 are a shit band. Burzum is fucking brilliant name and Burzum is a fucking brilliant band. So with this in mind we have always striven to come up with a name that will lead onto to brilliance. The first band we formed, about four years ago was the seminal 'Space Ponies'. Douche Bag was also in this band but was fired minutes prior to our first ever live performance. This traumatic experience did nothing to dampen the first gig and everyone who was there to see Justin beating on a cardboard box and me blowing on a half filled beer bottle will remember that moment forever. In years to come people will say 'I was at the Space Ponies first gig.' Like they say about the Sex Pistol's first gig. Over time we patched things up with Douche Bag and he was allowed back into the fold, this time in the hardest working band in Rock: The Shit Sweats. The Shit Sweats played an acoustic set in a back room in a village called Wombaix. It consisted of Douche Bag on bongos, Justin on ukulele and me on tin whistle. Half way through we swapped instruments, without stopping playing. This performance was actually recorded through the soundboard recording system of Justin's Dictaphone. A single copy of this exists and it changes hands on EBay for thousands of pounds. Fate was to play its hand again and the Shit Sweats split due to musical differences. Mainly that we couldn't actually play any music.

One third of the Shit Sweats thinks about what could have been...

As I said, a band is only as good as its name, so with this in mind Justin came up with a new band name for us this season. He decided that Kiddy Fiddler would be a good moniker for our forth coming musical ventures. People would know us for the controversy and we would get free coverage from the Daily Mail. This was further embellished with my idea that we could get a group of children together and teach them to play fiddles. At least the band would do what it said on the tin. Further to this we came up with names for the first three albums: God Wishes You Were Dead (You'd Be Easier To Fuck), Je Suis Le Jambon and the third album in the trilogy Shitcat Sheep Shift. Look out for us in the Hit Parades.

And next up on Top of the Pops...

In a similar musical vein, we left France early on Friday morning mainly in order that I get back up North to go and see MANOWAR play in Leeds. As ever, they played a fucking blinding set, I ended up quite close to the front surrounded by a load of meat headed Neo-Nazis. They were all very friendly chaps, who insisted on making everyone around them dance, including a young Asian girl I was standing next to. It was only the Blood and Honour tattoos and Seig Heiling that spoiled the fun.

Manowar = Not Gay

The next day was also dominated by music, this time in the form of the Damnation Festival. I went along with Sam and Matt, meeting Glynn and Scott there. The reason I went was to see Godflesh and Ulver. I was also happy to see Dragged Into Sunlight again and Doom for the first time. Godflesh were easily the standout act, the best I've seen them since 1991. Ulver played a brilliant but somewhat subdued set and Doom set the pace with the words 'Shit Metal has left the building!' Scott was upset by Dragged Into Sunlight because they perform with their backs to the audience. He thought it was ignorant of them. I watched a song by Turisas, about as much as I could take of their faux-Viking bullshit, about half a song of Evile and most of Chthonic's set, only for the bassist (like at least half of the male audience in there). I missed most of Alter of Plagues, and regretted it, based on what I saw. So, all in all, a great £30 well spent!

Another great gig photograph of Ulver sound checking...

The End is Nigh...

As I was feeling down in the dumps on Saturday, I decided the best way to cheer myself up was to buy some records. So off I trotted, down through the madding crowds of Saturday afternoon York, first off to the guy who sells records on the market. The man I have to reintroduce myself to every time I visit his stall. There can't be that many returning customers in the York Market. I remember him, why can't he remember who I am and know my eclectic tastes in records ('Me and Bobby McGee' and 'Speed Kills, But Who's Dying?')? I've a good mind to boycott him, but he does let me look at the special stuff behind the stall. All the stuff that is yet to be sorted and priced. He also gives me discounts on bulk purchases. So I probably won't be boycotting him anytime soon. On this visit I also called in at Attic Records. Surprisingly it was open. There have been numerous occasions when I have called in here to see what stock he had in only to find a sign saying 'back @ 2.30' hanging on the closed door. 2.30 duly rolled round and he still wasn't back. 'Fuck him' I thought, you only get two chances with me. Well, I say that, but I have been back and he has been open, so I must have given him a few more chances. Anyhoo, none of this is of any import. He was open, I made a purchase. Happiness was reinstated for about three nanoseconds.

True dat

The reason I mention all this background fluff, is because I bought two records I never thought I'd own in my entire life. The first was Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA. I bought it as I feel that every household should have at least one copy of the Boss' work. I was very pleasantly surprised that it is actually pretty damn good. But the other purchase has such an profoundly astronomical effect on my life that I think things have changed irreconcilably. This is it, there is no looking back now. I bought Appetite for Destruction by Guns and Roses. Now this might not seem like such a big deal to you people, but let me tell you, this is massive for me. I'm a music snob, always have been, always will be. I have always hated Guns and Roses and have held them in continual contempt throughout my music listening history.

Hate you guys...

Allow me to explain how we arrive at that point: As a child I never really listened to music as such. The house was filled with Jazz and Radio Four, courtesy of my parents. The only pop song I remember from these times is Joe Dolce's 'Shaddap Your Face'. As a seven year old I thought this was swearing and was shocked that this would be played on the radio. What a fucking stupid little cunt I was. Around this time the only records myself and my brother owned were Dr Who and the Pescatons, Rolf Harris' The Court of King Caractacus and Rupert and the Firebird. My musical outlook was limited to say the least. What did happen, however, was when I got to Comprehensive school, I grew out of playing war and building dens in the quarry and realised that all the cool kids were listening to something called Pop Music. I wanted in. This was the real shizzle. This would make me accepted by my peers. So I decided that I would dip a toe in the ocean of this so-called 'popular music'. So one Saturday I bought myself some cassette tapes for a bit of illegal home recording. As I mentioned, the radio was controlled by my parents, so when it came to looking for a radio station offering pop music on the pre-tuned radio set, the best I could find happened to be BBC Radio 2. The light program. There was no Radio One in our gaff, oh no. And this is back in the day when Radio 2 wasn't the 'hip' beast that it is now, with all sorts of young upstarts playing contemporary music for a young at heart audience. This is back when they would smother the airwaves in its bed with a pillow of funerary dirges and religious tracts. Obituaries were read out in place of the news.

And later in the programme we take a candid look at medieval torture

This is what I had to contend with in my first tentative steps in the direction of music appreciation. Avowed to make a 'mix tape' that I could play at parties and impress Emma Lillyman and Tina Hinchcliffe with, I steadfastly spent the afternoon recording track after track of what I considered to be Pop Music. I still remember to this day what was on that tape. It was what one would best describe as an 'eclectic mash-up'. An even better description would be a 'fucking train wreck'. Amongst the tracks was Meat Loaf's 'I'm Gonna Love Her for the Both of Us' and Ashford & Simpson's 'Solid'. Believe me, these were the 'cool' tracks. I was determined to make a full 90 minute recording that afternoon. I filled the rest of the tape with such great hits as Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree and, I shit you not, The Black Beauty Theme. They said such great musical acts never should be brought together in one place. That afternoon, gentle reader, I proved them right.

Alan, I would have made you proud...

These first steps were soon calmed with the introduction into my life of Top of the Pops, and it was through this medium that I first discovered Metal. I was watching a show one particular evening in 1987, when something happened that changed my life forever. Kiss were performing 'Crazy, Crazy Nights'. I literally shat myself. This is what I had been looking for! Long haired men, fireworks, leather, spandex... erm. This all sounds a bit gay when you write it down. Anyway, Kiss blew me away (figuratively, not literally) that night. My life as I had known it changed. I was determined to track down more loud guitar music. I needed noise in my life. I quickly rejected Kiss when I discovered Iron Maiden and in turn I quickly rejected them when I discovered Slayer. I was a fickle child. In my mind I wouldn't allow myself to like more than one band at a time. This did soon change and the search was on for faster and harder music, Metallica, Nuclear Assault, Sepultura, Anthrax, Megadeth, Voivod, Kreator, Sodom, Acid Reign, Xentrix, Sacred Reich, Testament, and a million more were added to my growing lexicon of musical interest. This was in the glory days of Thrash Metal. I was in the maelstrom and there was no turning back.

Thrash 'til death!

So why am I telling you this? Well, this is where Guns and Roses come in. It would have been around this time that I was made aware of their growing stature in the metal world. I watched a series of programs called Heavy Metal Heaven one Christmas. Amongst the features was a gig at the Whiskey-a-Go-Go by GNR. I watched it in disbelief. here was a band that looked like women, played music that women were actually dancing to and not one person in the audience were headbanging to. There was no moshing, no stage diving, no blood and guts from a violent pit. Literally I thought; what is this shit? and waited impatiently for Metallica's feature to come up afterwards. From that day on, I have always hated Guns and Roses. This hate has become so ingrained in me over the last twenty years that in the past I have felt physically sick whenever I heard the opening bars of Sweet Child o' Mine. This Saturday all that changed. This Saturday was the beginning of new chapter in my life. A turning of the page, if you will. I spotted Appetite for Destruction on the market stall. Having discussed GNR only the other day with Logan Josh, I thought I really should see if they were as bad as I thought. With shaking hand, I handed over my money and placed the record in a bag so no one should see my shame as I walked back. Once back home, I drew the blinds, turned off the lights and locked the door should anyone be around to see what I was about to do. I placed the album on the turntable and dropped the needle on the vinyl. OH MY FUCKING GOD!! I HAVE WASTED THE LAST TWENTY YEARS HATING THIS BAND!! It blew me away, it blew me out of the goddamn room! It blew me to Mars and back! I was shocked with myself, what the fuck was going on? A few years ago I began to appreciate AC/DC for what they really were (another band that I had a long standing feud with, when I was eighteen I once even refused a date with a girl on the basis that she told me she liked AC/DC...), and now here I was loving Guns and Roses! Is this the downward spiral? Am I finally hitting middle age? Have I grown up? Am I able to appreciate what I once hated with venom? Here I am now, listening to Sweet Child of Mine and actually enjoying it. WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

Love you guys...

Brothers and Sisters raise your horns!

I'm back from France and Hellfest, a three day experience of standing in a field shouting at various long haired men with instruments to 'turn it up!'  I was head interpreter as I was able to ask, in French, for directions to the bus stop for Amiens and Dave, Ross and Glynn's level of French ended at telling someone their name and that they were eleven years old. Ah, the Comprehensive School: learning at its best. Armed with this Schoolboy level of the language and more Pot Noodles than even the most hungry student could possibly eat in a lifetime, we braved the Channel Tunnel. During the crossing Dave stared out of the carriage window the whole time trying to see fish and shipwrecks and eventually made some part of a foreign field forever England. It really was; our tents were enclosed on no less than three sides by Brits who had also travelled to bang their fucking heads. The little cunts next door to us kept us up all the first night by shouting French phrases in a shit Death Metal vocal style. So we got our own back the next evening, fortified with wine and Carcass, by shouting the phrase 'Thrash Metal' over and over again for about four hours helped by our French neighbours on the other side. That's the power of music right there, breaking down cultural barriers. All in all it was a great weekend, although it ended up costing me a lot as the price of festival food doesn't seem to bear any resemblance to the cost of food in the real world. A bag of chips from the local chippy would set you back about a pound, at Hellfest a tiny plastic tray with about three frites in the bottom set you back a whopping 2,381 euro. Even with a strong Euro there is a bit of a discrepancy there...

 Fucking Metal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here is a list of the bands that I enjoyed the mostest of all, Carcass, Immortal, Tankard, Anvil, Marduk, Ulver, Watain, Ihsahn, Kampfar, Negura Bunget, Sigh, Urgehal, Jello Biafra, Dark Funeral, Kyuss, Brant Bjork and the Bros, Mondo Generator, Black Cobra, Slayer, Finntroll, Yawning Man, Discharge and MOTORFUCKING HEAD. But by far the best of the best award goes out to the reformed and almightyly loud GODFLESH. I haven't seen them perform live for twenty years and despite waiting 25 minutes for them to sort out their sound and them having to cut their set short by twenty minutes as a consequence, it was like experiencing a musical glacier. A crushing act of nature, an overwhelming experience like no other. A true Force Majeure. 

Devastator/Mighty Trust Krusher

The final evening was characterised by being kept awake half of the night by that group of 68 year old Jewish Grandmothers whose name I shall not mention's firework display. After wishing that they'd stick their fucking Love Gun up their fucking arses and 'pull the fuckin' trigger until it go click', the following morning at the crack of sparrows the intrepid travellers broke camp in wet and freezing conditions and walked what seemed like miles to the carpark. I was half excepting the Melton Mowbray Mini Pork Pie I'd left in the car over the weekend to have grown limbs and TWOCed the car in a bid for freedom. But thankfully it wasn't to be and Glynn drove us back without stopping (except for the Channel Tunnel) in a ten hour journey that would have tested the patience of even the most patient of patient saints. I arrived back in Rotherham clutching my new Sigh CD and my new Kampfar T-Shirt, tired and half mental from the chip overdose, but happy in my Heavy Metal Heaven!

My God Sir, I've Lost My Leg...

A reasonably quick update for all you out there slavering for details of my private life. Last Thursday I went to see the greatest Grindcore band of them all: Napalm Death. It got rather sweaty and violent at the front and I still have the bruises to prove it. Anyway the best stuff they played was:

Suffer the Children

Siege of Power

From Enslavement to Obliteration

Scum

The Kill

You Suffer

Nazi Punks Fuck Off

And although I shouted for them to come back on a play one more song they didn’t.

Napalm, but not Napalm Death...

Saturday found me in the company of several hundred fat, balding, middle aged men who all had a thing for even smaller men in uniform. I feasted my eyes on such treats as a re-fight of the Battle of Borodino and laughing at knob heads who play games based on ‘what if’ scenarios, like what if the Second World War had continued and the Nazis had invented giant robots to carry on the fight? I mean really, World War Two? Giant robots? Go out and meet some girls, for Christ’s Sake! By far the highlight of the day was seeing this twerp:

He fights sitting on his arse. We'll have to move him off it...

Not only that but I saw his fabled mirror twin as well:

Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo...

Both dressed like the Little Corporal’s that they are. I once worked with one of those gentlemen (not the chap in the Pink Floyd T-Shirt, he bravely stood in the line of fire to get these photographs…), I couldn’t tell you which one though.

On Sunday I slowly recovered from my uncle’s 65th Birthday celebrations and moved up to York along with Lauren. We are both working outside of York and decided it would be easier for both of us if we moved in together. Having now spent a day in the same house I feel I am in a position to give an accurate description of how it is to live with Lauren:

Int: a front room in a house in York, a Television is playing in the corner, ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ is showing on the screen. Two people sit on the sofa, one male; ALEX and one female; LAUREN.

LAUREN: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…

ALEX: Yep

LAUREN: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…

ALEX: Yep

LAUREN: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…

Ad Nauseum until a Dancing Dog comes on the Television and distracts LAUREN for two minutes…

The house we are in is a six bedroom affair, Lauren and I assumed we’d be the only ones living there until the Estate Agent told us from next week four Ukrainian butchers would be moving in. So that means we’ll either have a fridge full of good meat or Lauren will get gang raped.

...As Long As Winds Will Blow...

Jo left on Saturday morning for a month. She's gone back to Auld Landan town, innit? We all spent Friday night watching Batman 'Dark Knight'. An excellent film, that I was wanting to watch again. I like Batman more than any of the other Superheroes. He seems more real than, say, Superman. Superman is just up his own arse. 'Oooh look at me, I've got all these powers. I can burn through steel with my eyes. Yeah, that's right my fucking eyes!' Batman seems far more human. It's not just him doing the crime fighting. He has a back up team. OK, so it mainly consists of the old fart Alfred, but at least he has help. I also like the Joker as a character and not just in the film. I used to have this old collection of the greatest Joker stories ever told. Right back from some of the first Batman comics in 1940 he was a crazy fucking murderer. No rhyme or reason to him. This is what Heath Ledger portrays much better than Jack Nicholson did. Obviously in the 1960's when Comics came under the crushing influence of the Comics Code Authority, Joker was stripped of all this menace, as was Batman and he became as ludicrous as the TV show of the same time. It was only after Watchmen that Batman and the Joker by proxy recovered. Arkham Asylum, Year One, The Killing Joke are all worth checking out from this period. Also any of the Legends of the Dark Knight comics series. Mind you, all this was made possible with the brain drain of British talent to the States, mainly from writers of 2000AD.

Enough about comics. I spent Saturday in town buying board games expansion packs and tidying my room and the bathroom. The bathroom needed it. No one had touched it for about two months and I'm sure there were things living in between the tiles. I could feel tentacles reaching out for my whilst shaving, like some Lovecraftian dank horror had bred in the filth. I headed out to TÞM to see Gone Postal play a gig for the release of their new album. There was three bands supporting them, I missed the first two, but managed to see Severed Crotch. I've seen these lads play before and I've a real soft spot for them. Ball crushing Death Metal, their singer is pretty amazing with his vocals. Both bands put on a really good show, but I can't help but laugh at badly translated songs. One of Gone Postal's tracks is called Void of Torment.I mean just think about that for a second. Void of Torment. What the fuck does that even mean? You are not being tormented? Surely that's a good thing? Why is a Death Metal band promoting good things? Or does it mean you're in a void, where you will be tormented? I'm confused, if anyone can help me on this one, I'd love to know...

After the gig, which was what appeared to be a youth club (No bar and full of teenagers... dear God help me...) I met Angelos for drinks in Dillon. I can't remember much else about Saturday night except I know some shots were involved, as was a chicken burger and a taxi ride. I woke up about two in the afternoon, so I'm assuming I had a good time. I spent Sunday recovering and fannying about all day.

Slaget I Skogen Bortenfor

On Thursday night we held our now bi-annual Play Night. We decided to up the ante somewhat this time and told the punters to bring their own games, as Jo refuses point blank to play Stratego, the only board game the crazy drunk Jesus freak owns. Lilja, turned up with "Ticket to Ride', which looked fucking amazing, with trains and everything along with some crazy card game and Cluedo in Danish!. Hrönn brought 'The Mad Magazine' game. Atli turned up with the nerdiest game this side of Nerddom. It was some fucking Vampire Card Game. I never understand these kind of card games, like Magic The Gathering and the like. I mean, when I want to play cards, I get some nice simple playing cards. I don't need cards adorned with pictures of fucking werewolves and goblins to enjoy a game.

I digress. Atli wasn't allowed to play with his cards, even though we kept telling him 'Yeah, we'll play after this game, promise!' That wiped the stupid smile off his stupid face. We played Cluedo first (Which Margret kept pronouncing as 'Clue Edo'. Brilliant), everybody raced to the foot of the stairs to reveal it was Fru Paafugleblaa with the Reb in the Billiardvarelse. I don't remember who won in mad scramble to the stairs, so let's just say it was me. Then it was time to play Hrönn's 'Mad Magazine Game' which, no offense Hrönn, was akin to pulling teeth. I definitely remember winning this one and Play Night moved onto Poker. Now, Poker is a game I don't know how to play but have always wanted to learn. We broke out the Jesus Freak's coins and everyone was dealt in. I had a good hand and kind of figured that I did, so I kept upping the betting, I then went all in and everyone else thought I was bullshitting them and matched my bravado. It paid off. I put the smack down on everyone and knocked at least three people out. Underestimate me, would you, you fuckers? I went to bed at the top of my game.

Friday was spent watching videos and relaxing over a few beers in the house. I awoke quite late on Saturday. This is the major problem when the sun doesn't rise until about ten am. I attempted to take a coat back, but the snotty cunt behind the counter said it had been worn and wouldn't take it back. I suppose having a shopping list in the pocket didn't help my argument that I had only tried it on in the house. With that failure I met Jo in town where we proceeded to the Perlan and the Saga Museum. I've already told you my comments on this place before, so I won't reiterate myself at this juncture. This time however, we took the opportunity to half the embarrassment and dressed up as Vikings, with chainmail shirts, coifs and Helmets. There was also a sword involved, I'm not sure how, the excitement was far too heady for me. After this I took Jo on a Battlefield Archaeology tour of World War Two Defensive bunkers. She said this was the highlight of the day, by far!

Hrappi called over Saturday evening and he and I headed out to a gig at Belly's. You'll remember Belly's for being the cheapest pint in Reykjavik, a snip at £67,982! Anyway the gig was a warm-up show for the 'Anti-Christmas' festival that is being held in a few weeks. We arrived to the dulcet tones of 'Dormah'. These were blasting out crushing Death Metal, very good stuff. Then came on the exquisitely named 'Bastard'. Again great Death Metal, with an Australian Singer; so for the first time I understood everything being said between songs. Next up were Forgarður Helvítis, one of the oldest bands in Iceland, fucking excellent Grindcore Punk with a really energetic singer. The next band were a power punk kind of outfit. They were good at what they did, but not really my kind of band. The final band were my favourite, Atrum. Fucking good Black Metal, in the Emperor style. They were all only young kids, but they had the attitude (and corpse paint) and talent to put on a real good show. I was just thinking to myself, wow these guys are just like old Emperor when they launched into a cover of I am the Black Wizards! Fucking Brilliant, it's one of my favourite Emperor songs of all time, ever. After the gig Hrappi and I went and got our Chickenbugers that always finish off an evening these days.

On Sunday Jo dragged me to shopping Hell in Kringlan Shopping Maul. Actually I wanted to go Christmas shopping, I had a few things to buy and knew exactly were to get them from. As it turns out, one of the shops had closed down, another one didn't have what I wanted and the final thing I wanted to buy was too heavy to carry around, so I ended up buying a magazine and two books for myself. Another completely successful shopping expedition for Sotheran.

We had a meeting at work today, during which we had our Secret Santa hoisted upon us. What this means is, we all picked a name out of a hat and we have to be nice to that person for the week, but without them knowing it. It culminates in buying them a present on Friday. We can be nice in various ways, sing to them, write them a poem, send a little gift, etc. I'm not going to tell you who mine is, but they are going to receive pictures of Nazi atrocities, children being raped by clowns and other such niceties. Fuck Christmas and fuck you.