The world better brace itself that’s all I’m sayin’…. I hope your sitting down…deep breath…I am finally learning how to wrangle my Face-book page.


There ! Said it !

Get your hand off it, it’s not like I am going to hook up a personal profile and start updating the planet every time I do a dump, have a thought or eat out….well maybe the dump thing….where was I ?…. It’s for the love of the music as everything seems to be in my psychiatric assisted existence. Speaking of which apparently I have to stop hitting people as well. This is by order of one of my kind psychiatrists who is trying to unravel the cluster-fuck that is my mind.

And keep me out of  jail and so on and so forth.

“But it feels so good….” I sigh.

You should see the 5150 worthy look that little comment gets me on  weekly basis.

So Facebook. I never really got on there to tell the truth. Lilli would tell me if I  needed to answer mail and so on ,so I was stoked to see that two ugly old farts commented on one of my pictures saying that my boobs are fake. Ohhhh!  That stung.  Not.  basically, and feel free to correct me if I am wrong, not that I give a shit what you think mind, but you are basically telling me that I have porno tits. Right? Right?  Sexy bodacious wank worthy fun-bags I think I’m correct in assuming am I not ? And who in the name of all that is holy under the bloodshot eyes of our lord,Elvis Presley, would not want porno tits.?

Exactly. I rest my erect nippled case.

I love dudes like this. Lurkers dig? Twenty years ago they would have been skulking in the bushes wearing a cum drizzled London Fog trench-coat ,candy in one hand cock in the other. From the look of the profile pictures I think it is safe to assume that they have not had pussy since it had them or they paid for it in Thailand. God love ’em, the dirty great fuck wits that they are! Perverts! Let’s here it for ’em! Now they are just bitter and have an Internet connection. Weeee! You know the type, so fat he couldn’t find his cock without the use of one of those angled mirrors  that the cops use in Northern Ireland to check for bombs under government cars, face like a fork fucked potato and a wife defined by her sofa sized ass and the mustard stains on her 3xxxl smock tops.

I will take the compliment! Fuck it, I will usually take anything that is not tied down. I wish that I could afford fake boobs! And fake everything-fucking-else. I was lamenting this very fact to Lady Thraxx in the living room as we practiced out set for our band The Heshers to be debuted at The Mars Hill cafe this Sunday and I admired the pastel Persian rug beneath my freshly pedicured feet ( Glitter virgin blood  red this week fact fans and my ever loyal foot fetishists ) that I nabbed for ten lowly dollars at a yard sale down the road that we transported back to Chez Fuck-up in a hijacked Woolworth’s trolley.

Lord! What I wouldn’t do to my corpse with an open checkbook. Lap band surgery, liposuction,a new rack, lips, nose, get all my skin sandblasted,new teeth..hold on ,I have to hit play on the CD again…listening to the jam that I am writing  lyrics over…new band and all that plays live in two weeks,got a cool support show that I will fill y’all in on when I get the details …hold on,look,lemme go take a slash,grab a tea and I will fill y’all in….


Sir’s Mal of bass and Nate of drums have got me to sing for their rather dashing stoner rock band. Good solid stuff it is too. I like to refer to it as a “Speeding ticket soundtrack ” .You know when you are cruising, blasting top tunes at full volume and  *Booooooop* and flashing lights in the rear view. Mr Pig taps on your window and asks for license and registration while informing you that you were doing 120mph in a 60 zone. Blame the music baby! In your head your were heading for the border with an open can of suds resting twixt  your tanned thighs and a joint stuck to your lower lip. Your Datsun 180B was a mustang. I believe in the trans-formative powers of the right sound track, it shall never fail to make my garnet heart fart…..

We are called Los hombres del Diablo. I guess that I am the devil the as Ben the bass player informed me. I was dressed for the part when we jammed on Friday night that’s for sure. Puerto Rican hooker heals with Louis Vuitton ankle sox,my omnipresent ass choking denim cut offs with a fox tail hanging from the side belt loop, my trashed and beloved Iggy Pop tee-shirt and a Black sequined evening jacket. Classy eh? Clusters of zit strewn metal heads parted like the red sea before me….The deal is that we play our 1st show together next Friday so I sat in a tangle of louche limbs and notebooks bathed in blue light and happily wrote all the songs ans the boys made their magic.. Bottles of fast warming Corona littered amp tops and I grinned like a wolf so happy to be in another band with two of my greatest allies and brothers.

I think that I am filming cut always and tomfoolery for the show tomorrow. This week is really doing a number on me. Didn’t stop me from going out to dinner with a rather dashing friend last night though. He is almost painfully shy and model handsome which lead to me chattering like a rock trivia magpie and sneaking looks at his breathtaking profile as he watched the band. I am so ill equipped for this kind of thing. And I was having a fat day which didn’t help. Going on a date feeling like ten pounds of shit wedged into a five pound bag does not do a real lot for a girls self esteem.

The first time we met about a million years ago I complimented him on his tee-shirt and he looked at me like I smelt bad and walked way. Years later I blasted him about it when he tried to introduce himself to me and say hello. I have since apologized. Not only do I have the ass of an elephant but also the memory of one. Oh bugger it. He is lovely,well read and seemingly indifferent to my scant charms. Well, he makes it look that way which naturally makes me wild.

I wish that I could play it cool. Told Miss Thraxx-a-lot that my next magnum opus shall be titled ” I’m a dipshit for deadshits.”  It’s my inner Gram Parsons I think. Mandolin maybe ?

That’s me,putting the “Cunt” back into “Country and Western.”

The last one we wrote was called “Shut up and make me cum.”


Record Store day will find myself Lady Thraxx and King Blackie doing our acoustic thing in Wollongong at Music Farmers. It’s the only Saturday of the year that I will get my assorted holes on train to go so far. Its important that you show up. I utterly , actively and yes at times violently despite whinging gob-shites that piss and moan about “Back in the day…” Today is the day you latte sipping fucktards so show up and support the noble love run beast that is your rare record store.

It’s the only show that I lose money on and happily so due to the fact that they always have a grip of shit that I covert.

Be there. I will sing then you can watch me shop. Both noble pursuits.

So…..Love songs and Knives. You wanna go on a second date?