My Dear Friends

I must apologize to all and sundry for a frightful lapse in communication resulting from the dramatic explosion of my hard drive a while ago. Emails and addresses were lost en masse. Among those who I bow and scrape before are:

Simon, who is days away from getting me a monster record deal. And always says things that assuage my Regret. Resend that last one, compadre!

XTCFan, who cheerleads me to a largely indifferent Andy Partridge. Can yez send me your meatmail again so I can send the latest and we can Underwhelm Th' Partridge once more?

Viscount LaCarte- we always get some thread going and then my shit blows up and I lose it. Like a cock.

Kevin Wolf- who sent me th' dopest Barrence Whitfield Live and it went tits up before I could so much as burn it. Send again and I will send you coupons for free Thai Sex Workers. They're sold by the foot. 3 feet=one, 6 feet=two, etc.

Ben Sadock- who cut a really cool version of my song "Monday Wedding" and sent me his whole bitchin' voice-and-Hohner-Pianet album and...boom. Send again! I want to post your version and review your bitchin' album.

Onward! Now, as soon as I remaster every song I recorded last year I'll be back up 'n' running.

Just a l'il reminder to you fucking moral val-yooz folks.

Hey, you fucking conservative fuckoes- we're gettin' ever-closer to '06 and '08!

Just a reminder as your buddies start to play those good old moral values etc. cards- it has been confirmed that your good buddy Bill Frist used to "adopt" cats from shelters and "operate" on them. This story slipped out of sight faster than Sandra Day's indictment of th' current "administration".

mmm-kay? I mean, hey- not a big deal, right? Just thought I'd remind you.

Jesus. Look at that guy. What an utter fucking asshole. What an unmitigated old-money shit head. What I would give for five minutes alone with this fucking nipple and a tube sock full o' padlocks.

The Day Is Coming, citizens.


Oh, and I'm so, SO sorry that your fucking Cap Weinberger has croaked it. Boo fucking hoo.

Makes it a little easier to live without George H. and Ray Charles and them, I suppose. Boo fucking hoo.

Lightfoot's Fables #5: Th' Lion And the Mouse

Once when a Lion was asleep a little Mouse began running up and down upon him; this soon wakened the Lion, who placed his huge paw upon him, and opened his big jaws to swallow him. "Pardon, O King," cried the little Mouse: "forgive me this time, I shall never forget it: who knows but what I may be able to do you a turn some of these days?" The Lion was so tickled at the idea of the Mouse being able to help him, that he lifted up his paw and let him go. Some time after the Lion was caught in a trap, and the hunters who desired to carry him alive to the King, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a waggon to carry him on. Just then the little Mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the sad plight in which the Lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away the ropes that bound the King of the Beasts. "Was I not right?" said the little Mouse.

Moral: Try to drink a fair amount of liquor and, if possible, smoke some marihuana.

Oh and here's my anti-war song.

m e l t t h e g u n s

programmes of violence as entertainment
brings the disease into your room
we know the germ which is man-made in metal
is really a key to your own tomb

prevention is better than cure
bad apples affecting the pure
you'll gather your senses I'm sure
then agree to

melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more to fire them
melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more desire them

children will want them, mothers supply them
as long as your killers are heroes

and all the media will fiddle while rome burns
acting like modern-time Neros
prevention is better than cure
bad apples affecting the pure
you'll gather your senses I'm sure then agree to
melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more to fire them

melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more to desire them.

I'm speaking to the justice league of america the u s of a hey you yes you yes you in particular! when it comes to the judgement day and you're stood at the gates with your weaponry you dare clasp your hands in prayer and start quoting me 'cause we say.... our father we've managed to contain the epidemic in one place now let's hope they shoot themselves instead of others help to sterilize the race now. we've trapped the cause of the plague in the land of the free and the home of the brave if we listen quietly we can hear them shooting from grave to grave. if we listen quietly we can hear them shooting from grave to grave. if we listen quietly we can hear them shooting from grave to grave. From grave to grave from grave to grave from grave to grave

you ought to
melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more to fire them

melt the guns
melt the guns
melt the guns and never more desire them

Lightfoot's Fables #4: The Ass's Brains (!)

The Lion and the Fox went hunting together. The Lion, on the advice of the Fox, sent a message to the Ass, proposing to make an alliance between their two families. The Ass came to the place of meeting, overjoyed at the prospect of a royal alliance. But when he came there the Lion simply pounced on the Ass, and said to the Fox: "Here is our dinner for to-day. Watch you here while I go and have a nap. Woe betide you if you touch my prey." The Lion went away and the Fox waited; but finding that his master did not return, ventured to take out the brains of the Ass and ate them up. When the Lion came back he soon noticed the absence of the brains, and asked the Fox in a terrible voice: "What have you done with the brains?"

"Brains, your Majesty! it had none, or it would never have fallen into your trap."

Moral: A stitch in time is half-fucking-full.

Lightfoot's Fables #3: The Ass And Th' Feist

A Farmer one day came to the stables to see to his beasts of burden: among them was his favourite Ass, that was always well fed and often carried his master. With the Farmer came his Feist, who danced about and licked his hand and frisked about as happy as could be. The Farmer felt in his pocket, gave the Feist some dainty food, and sat down while he gave his orders to his servants. The Feist jumped into his master's lap, and lay there blinking while the Farmer stroked his ears. The Ass, seeing this, broke loose from his halter and commenced prancing about in imitation of the Feist. The Farmer could not hold his sides with laughter, so the Ass went up to him, and putting his feet upon the Farmer's shoulder attempted to climb into his lap. The Farmer's servants rushed up with sticks and pitchforks and soon taught the Ass that clumsy jesting is no joke.

Moral: Blow it out your cloaca.

Lightfoot's Fables #2: The Cock and Th' Pearl

A cock was once strutting up and down the farmyard among the hens when suddenly he espied something shining amid the straw. "Ho! ho!" quoth he, "that's for me," and soon rooted it out from beneath the straw. What did it turn out to be but a pearl that by some chance had been lost in the yard? "You may be a treasure," quoth Master Cock, "to men that prize you, but for me I would rather have a single barley-corn than a peck of pearls."

Moral: Don't be a fucking cock.

Lightfoot's Fables #1: The Fox and Th' Grapes

Once upon a time a fox was walking through the forest. She was very hungry and thirsty, because she had not had anything to eat or drink since the day before.

The fox came to a glen in the forest where there were grapevines growing, but she was disappointed to see that almost all of the grapes had already been eaten by other animals. Then she looked up and saw one last bunch of grapes, hanging from a vine that was looped high over the limb of a tree.

She could see that the grapes were big and fat and purple, and she knew from experience that they would be sweet and juicy, just the thing to quench her hunger and thirst.

The fox jumped as high as she could, but the grapes were too high and she could not reach them. She tried to climb the tree, but the bark was too slick and her paws were not well-made for climbing. She jumped again, but still could not reach the grapes.

The fox sat for a moment and looked up at the bunch of ripe grapes, so far above her head. The thought of how those luscious fruit made her mouth water and her stomach growl. She wanted them very badly.

The fox walked a little ways away, then turned and ran back toward the grapes and leaped as high as she could leap. She went very high into the air, but not high enough to reach the grapes. She fell to the ground and rolled over and over until she bumped against the trunk of the tree.

She lay there on the ground for awhile, looking up at the grapes. Then, moving slowly, bruised and dusty, she got to her feet and walked away. As she left the clearing, she looked back at the grapes one last time and sneered, "Hmmph. They were probably sour, anyway."

Moral: Everything is totally fucked, especially you. Oh- and the fox is a dumb twaat.

Woah! Your Whoreoscope!

Jiminy Fucking Christmas on Rye with Provolone! Let's slap up some shit quick and move th' Sad Sackery on down th' page! Fuck! Let's get th' pity party on down a ways what ya say! Woooo-hoooo! Life's a fucking party, yeah?

So, here's what's in store, fumapolios!

AQUARIUS- 1.20-2.20:

Hey, punkin! The sooner you stop faking the sooner he'll leave like you want. Plus, he doesn't care! You're singing your Carmen aria to a brick wall! 'Nuff said!

PISCES 2.20-3.21:

Yo, you've got a lump th' size of a quava in yo' brain! That's why th' headaches. You're weeks from going tits-up, citizen.

ARIES 3.21-4.20:

That cute, quiet guy in your C++ workshop who keeps staring at you? Well, he wants to wear your skin like a mink stole. Take it as a compliment.

TAURUS 4.21-5.21:

I see five hiballs. I see an offramp. I see a spleen.

GEMINI 5.21-6.21:

You'll go blind this year. Don't worry, though- it's not from th' compulsive cawkspankin'. It's time to explore Porn On Tape. Heh heh.

CANCER 6.21-7.23:

Irony of ironies! Holy mutating polyps! Don't bother with a second opinion. You're fuckoed. Time to finish that rock opera, canus.

LEO 7.23-8.23:

Your mother wishes you would die. Your father wishes she would die. Your sister wishes he would die. It's like a Hat Trick Of Hatred!

VIRGO 8.23-9.23:

Th' polar ice caps are melting. Just for you. They're not melting for any other astrological sign. What do you think of that, bitch?

LIBRA 9.23-10.23:

On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true. So they sprinkled moondust in your hair etc. etc.

Then they hit you with that micropenis.

Which will fall off this year.

And no one will notice.

SCORPIO 10.23-11.22:

It's The Three B's for you, cocko: Burst Blood Vessel.

Prepare to list to the right for the rest of your natural life. And to pee yourself daily. Yay. You'll look like a Dick Tracy villain. Ain't life grand.

SAGITTARIUS 11.23-12.22

Funny- you never really gave The Jaws Of Life much thought one way or th' other, did you? And you didn't give at the Annual Jaws Of Life Charity neither, huh? And there you are.

You can't digest a steering wheel, Scrooge.

CAPRICORN: 12.23-1.20:

Woah! It's Bobby Lightfoot's sign! Do I have to tell you how utterly PLOWED you are?

I thought not.

Sunday. March 26. 2006. 4:40 AM

Sometimes when I stop and think about what a fucking cock-up I've made of myself, the foolish assumptions I've made, the hubris I've fallen prey to, the oceans of mud and piss and blood I've dragged myself through to no end- oh, it's appalling. When I look around and the world o' men and the greed 'n' waste and suffering and how we're repayed for our highest callings with a fuckin' pine box- oh, it's a dragola. Sometimes when I'm literally doubled over at the excruciatory cramping that results from th' SHAME AND HUMILIATION AND SHEER SELF-CONTEMPT AND SADNESS AND WASTE AND ALL TH' CRAP THAT WILL NEVER BE, NEVER BE, NEVER BE- oh, my droogies it's a bad, bad trip indeed. One of those trips where everybody's six-four and wearin' aviator glasses and staring at you. Urgh.

And when at length I unbind myself from the muscle spasms and bloating and irritability brought on by nothinghood and how jackfuck happens when you wish on a star, and I summon the courage to face myself in the mirror, well, at least there's this- at least there's that 18-year old me starin' back, his face unlined and his bearing straight, unbent by th' inevitable.

And he's saying you fucking asshole. Oh, you fucking Willy Lomax.