I have written some mail over a three week period to one of Liquid Inspiration Podcast's free legal advisers a Mr Jeckles. He has a radio show and as of right now I have not heard one of these delightful missives read aloud.
(Well the one I did hear really rather lacked gusto and thus has been stricken from my memory)
Shitty Blog Radio around 04:30 GMT be there or be in bed like the rest of the proper English speaking sensibles...
Oh Do enjoy you lucky old things:
EPIC FAIL OF A WEEK?!?!?!?!?
You should've listened to me and old Dazzer, Surely the mail bag section could've salvaged and "Shtooped" up online?
I'll keep it brief as I am sure you are going to be keen to read out the last two prior emails I have sent you on this weeks show.
I have taken it upon myself to script a unique dramatic play highlighting your technological troubles that assumedly and apparently plagued and persistently postponed the prompt and punctual procuring of SBR last week.
Find below a short extract from Act 1 Scene 4 for of the play I have titled:
The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark
Act 1, Scene 4, The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark:
Enter JECKLES, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS
*A flourish of trumpets, a light guff, ordnance shot off, within, also a wispa gold is present upon the table*
What does this mean, my lord?
The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
It's most likely a simple case of turn it off at the mains
and i'm sure the only thing the fucker hasn't tried is
learning how to operate OSX... Ha ha... pickled onion
in the lunchbox! Oh yeah and the kettle-drum
and trumpet thus bray out. What the fuck is that about?
The triumph of his pledge.
Is it a custom?
Ay, marry, is't:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
set up, the hard drive is larger than is
normally stock in such models. Cheeses
fucking Christ I have no idea where to even
start trouble shooting this fucking thing...
Service pack two? I thought this was
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes,
Do you have a Red Bull spare? This shit is
going to take all fucking night!
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
Where the fuck is ESPN? So one might rant
about Farve and humbly a modest career in and
payment of none for nothing more than ripping
Brett a new one, That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth - wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin--
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
What the fuck Ravens?
To his own scandal.
So there you go.
Look, my lord, it comes!
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
What the fuck is that about?!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Jeckles the Geek!
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
Liketh the bloketh in the James Bond films...
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition.
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
So there you go.
I thought you got a cream for that?
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Ghost beckons Jeckles
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.
No, by no means.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
I have some editing to do, but i'll follow
this chap about rather than crack on
with the task in hand. That'll waste
some time, then I'll finally get that ten hours
of delicious rest and perhaps awake in the morn
and send some delicious nudes of Kristen Bell to
For I believe 'tis the Doth Cometh that requests
such debauchery in the first place.
Do not, my lord.
Shut the fuck up Horatio. Privy! I have
some amount of things not once. Not Twice.
Not Thrice not even to the power four..............*fades into background*
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er his base into the sea...
These things are grouped in sixes!
May the gods have mercy!
... as I was saying,
The neighbors have started to call you the
"long haired lover from Liverpool"
I for one have witnessed how the small children
taketh the pisseth out ofeth oneth tieth dyeth...
Touch me... I'm real...
It waves me still.
Go on; I'll follow thee.
You shall not go, my lord.
Get yer grubby mits off!!
What are ya? some kinda cunt?
Be ruled; you shall not go.
My fate cries out,
Don't be such a cunt mate.
I'll show her the Johnny Cash on me Super Bock;
See if she's up for it, alright me old china?
If she's a winner you shall not hear from thee
If it's a no go i'll give ya a bell on the dog alright?
And makes each petty artery in this body.
I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.
Exeunt Ghost and JECKLES
He waxes desperate with imagination.
She's never up for it.
She's from the North for a fucking start!.
Have after. To what issue will this come?
I'll say! Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
No, i'm pretty sure he got some cream for that.
Nay, let's follow him.
(Open Brackets, That's end scene by the way. Close brackets)
I happen to think that this short piece of classic literature sums up our current standing between your good self and technology.
Please find attached the last few missives for your reading pleasure on tonights show Sir.
C'mon! YOU CAN DO IT!
C.J "Meet the new Bard, Same as the old Bard" Hixon
"Wank" - By C.J Hixon esq
What a pile of WANK!
Of course the ideal missive I am desperately attempting to bestow upon yourself on this, the chilliest and indeed darkest of October eves is "Good week?"
I add my usual opening greeting precariously as I am undoubtedly certain that the only conceivable answer to it's earnest and down right upbeat demeanor is a negative one (open brackets, In your usual style old man, close brackets) and I fear that in the unlikely event of your response being one that is chipper and dare I say blithe, the following communication may well strike a pang of pure consternation amidst your soon to be quivering (open brackets, currently vibrating, close brackets) vocal chords.
What the fuck was that last week? I know you had technical troubles and tribulation, Not a problem. It's the style for the show renowned for it's technological grandeur, seriously Sir, If you will insist on a spiders web of cables and several computer systems simultaneously synced together you are going to receive podcasting problems. Take a leaf out of myself and Old Brommer's book, I'm fairly certain we could set that little mixer on fire and we'd still be able to record the Worlds favorite drunken Podcast called Liquid Inspiration Podcast (open brackets, Now available on something called the iTunes so i'm informed, close brackets)
No Sir, I am talking about the other two issues:
1)Your theories as to my writing abilities and technique.
2)The Texan's abundance of enthusiasm.
I shall embark on setting these obvious and unnecessary wrongs to right in order of speed and attention span.
I have been pondering a statement of yours from last weeks show for many days and sleepless nights now. It was a confusing statement to make to quote your good self:
"He tries to compose these [emails] in such a way that they are extremely difficult to read so that he can have a good laugh listening to me trying to read them, Um, I also think he picks his words so that you run into a bunch of alliterations and he Picks where he Puts his Popping P's so he can hear that sound on the microphone, Um, It, it, it's a big game I'm fairly certain."
I have picked apart this statement in a myriad of diverse and increasingly diverse approaches. I now feel that after putting my amazing English mind to commission for so many days (open brackets, and aforementioned sleepless nights!, close brackets) I am now in a position to illuminate your pseudo, ostensible and indeed so-called theory somewhat.
It was the third day of torturous thinking when I sat at my kitchen table counting the beads of condensation rolling down the slender frame of a bottle of "Shnëllhünd Überfix IPA" My mind ringing with only the constant babble of "extremely difficult to read" and "you run into a bunch of alliterations" and "difficult to read"... It hit me!
Why didn't you say something sooner? You poor thing. All this time you've been struggling away, How rude of me. Not once did I ever think to send you an email in American. You've been trying to translate a different language live on the air whilst I, as rude as I am, had the cheek and down right nerve to presume that you read fluent English. I apologise whole heatedly and vow to make my emails simpler, less concise and much more basic in future.
Now, to the second sensitive situation regarding rambling Random Nicole.
To quote your sensible self Sir "What the fuck is that about?!"
I'm a man of simple pleasures Sir, one of which happens to be sending my weekly communiqué to SBR. Give me a large quantity of cold, premium strength beer and an Awesome Award Winning delicious king prawn phall from the Awesome Award Winning Taj Mahal Curry House, Torrington Road, Ashford and I can churn out shitting Shakespeare!
Admittedly the bare bones of the tale described in my last electronic masterpiece was detailing the length of time it took me to complete the dreary and rather comfortless task of cleaning my living room carpet. However, using my powers of word smithery and consuming the chilled, alcoholic and delicious contents of my chiller I gleaned the skills to jazz the text up in a way that even Charlie fucking Mingus would ask if there need be so many notes in the sax solo!
Choice fucking phrases such as "high octane and adrenaline fuelled", "Bromley Daz must have been abducted by the Stasi!" and "On fire at time of delivery" and she couldn't even even deviate one notch on pitch or volume? I supply Fleming-esque espionage with hits like "S.A.S sniper had been looking for one through a telescopic night sight from several miles away", "Glamour model" and "Hugh Heffner wouldn't complain" and I receive nothing but quiet, beige, monotone tedium.
UP WITH THIS I WILL NOT PUT!
You may remember on Liquid Inspiration Podcast Session 9 - Nudes that old Dazzer had recited a rather interesting story about a twenty six year old man in Sweden that was embarking on a ninety day experiment to see if his breasts, when pumped at three hour intervals, could produce milk. A gentleman with a medical PHD mentioned that there is a chance of the twenty six year old, breast obsessed Mr Benkson could indeed produce milk. My statement on that show then is even more relevant in this email now. You can do it. You're just not trying hard enough.
I know that you Sir, have a great deal of verbal ability.
You can almost see in your minds eye, the sheer trauma, disappointment and misery that I was experiencing whilst listening to, possibly the best email I've ever written be drawled all over.
It's a handicap being this English and well educated with nowhere to vent your spleen you know. So don't deprive me of one of my favorite basic pleasures, No! Basic human right Sir.
I challenge you to read it right now Sir!
Read it with all of the pizzazz, gusto and full blown comedic value that I have grown to love and you have grown to tolerate.
YOU CAN DO IT OLD BEAN!!
(open brackets, please find below last weeks aforementioned delicious email, close brackets)
Be Proud, Be the best bloody radio host you can be!
C.J "Kent is the place of origin for 90% of the worlds complaint letters. That is a fact" Hixon
"Washing Carpet" - By C.J Hixon esq
This email is a bit long. I have highlighted all of the necessary phrases in bold and in large 14pt size for if you feel the need to preserve time and merely gloss over this missive if required.
Jesus shitting Christ on a bike, flipping the bird and scratching his "Jacobs" whilst steering with his knees! I Missed my weekly deadline last week! I missed it even after saying live on air that:
*add smug undertones* "I never miss a Jeckles Email" well, In my stupid fucking face.
Silly Welsh hardcore types 'Mclusky' this week with a favorite of mine, good for the early morning commute, the track "Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues" for your eventual enjoyment.
Well I suppose you would enjoy a plausible reason for the absent and complete droppage of 50% of the quality writing on your last show (Open Brackets, Daz informs me that he iphoned his mail in from bed whilst scratching his Nuts... By 'Nuts' I presume he was referring to his 45'000 strong collection of antique and assorted Walnuts and Acorns... perhaps the word "Scratching" is a nut collectors term for polishing or storing nuts in order of size or something. I don't know, I'm not a professional "Nutologist". Close Brackets)
My excuse is laden with much more sexual innuendo than that!
Thursday night I was "WASHING CARPET" Good god how I wish that was a euphemism... Around 23:00 I sat down to arrange miscellaneous doings online, Organise my Amazon recommendations, post pictures of mildly disfigured and interesting looking dog turds in brown paper bags on eBay insisting that they will be: "On fire at time of delivery" provided buyer resides within a 25 mile radius of the Dartford Crossing", Re-read the most entertaining write ups found on http://liquidinspiration.podbean.com, Email your good self and of course look at pictures of clay pipes on google images and rate them out loud to nobody other than myself.
I have been putting off a tawdry chore for the best part of a week. That grubby living room carpet.
As you may well know my hetro-life-mate Porky Bert the world famous "Pieologist", Glamour model and gravy enthusiast also happens to reside in my abode.
He jeffing loves nothing more than attempting to free those silly Australians from their temperature rich incarceration by attempting to dig them out from the top side. An ambitious plan that I fear would require more gusto than his porky paws could ever manage to gust.
I do appreciate the cut of that boys jib. His subsequent attempts have left aforementioned carpet in a state of grubby disarray and thus the plan had came upon me to utilize the modern and convenient "VAX Carpet Washer" that was a thoughtful and yet thoroughly underwhelming birthday gift from my now ex-girlfriend several years ago.
It looks like your average vacuum cleaner Sir. Think of it, vacuum cleaner in size, shape and look. What does one surmise in such a situation? Here's my theory at 23:10 Thursday night:
"It takes me 15 minutes to hoover that fucking carpet. Even if it's not the goliath of carpet cleaning that I have built it up to be in my head it'll take me no longer than an extra 10 sodding minutes to wash that bastard until it's sparkly clean and to a such a high standard that even Hugh Heffner wouldn't complain about taking a dump on it whilst requesting some star struck and delusional 20 something to lick up his dirty brown contents off of it..."
.... That is the exact thought that ran through my filthy mind as I pondered this the dullest of most casual tasks.
"I'd best get myself prepared" Thought I as my hand stretched out for my gardening gloves, wrench, electric toothbrush and iPod Touch with the freshest, most enjoyable and indeed latest installment of Liquid Inspiration Podcast already cued and ready to play on it. "Jesus H Christ, I think this would be next to impossible without you little iPod" I whispered under my breath to the over priced shiny machine as I slid it's tender frame into the left hand side of the R.A.F Combat Shorts that were at that stage two clear days over it's washing period.
"God forgive me for what I am about to do..."
An hour or so later a red hot cherry on the end of a cigarette on the end of a frustrated C.J could've been spotted outside my house had an S.A.S sniper had been looking for one through a telescopic night sight from several miles away.
I was spent, exhausted. The carpet had worn me down and the fucker was only half finished.
I gathered my wits about me. I called the one man that I knew would know how to compose himself in such a high octane and adrenaline fuelled situation.
"Come on damn it pick up! Pick up! Pick up the GOD DAMN iPHONE!" I concluded that my comrade in podcasting, Bromley Daz must have been abducted by the Stasi!.. or indeed polishing and /or storing in order of size his 45'000 strong collection of antique and assorted Walnuts and Acorns...
That jeffing carpet took the best part of two and a half fucking hours to clean in which time I drank too many beers to count and promptly fell asleep at around 01:35ish.
That Sir is why you did not receive any mail from me last week. All because of that fucking stupid carpet.
My bad Sir. Have another track that won't listen to by way of apology. 'John Smith' Live at the Roundhouse Camden Town London with an awesome version of the Queens Of The Stone Age classic "No One Knows"
I challenge you to find a better version, I challenge you to find a nicer and more talented guitarist, I challange you to play scrabble with John. I did last year... I lost.
Have a great show Sir and remember...
Some of your listeners overly pimp your show on the "Awesome Award Winning ®" Liquid Inspiration Podcast It's the podcast that has 25s of listeners every bloody week. Also four chinese can't be wrong...
Please accept my short missive as apology for messing up your shows quality standard for one week.
Be proud, be Liquid Inspirationally Podcastilly Shitty
The Freeballin' C.J Hixon
"I know exactly what you're thinking...
...you would rather be listening to Son Of Robot..."