so it's really over??

And the best part is--we can start with making fun of fat ladies singing. There's too many of them in my speech class and in my film class (I was smoking near her once, and she was barely able to talk in front of the whole class in intro to film -- it really pissed me off. The next day, she was eating a hoagie in front of the teacher and he kicked her out.)

Our story begins six months ago, when SMACKHEAD PETE gets a phonecall from HORNY BOB. HORNY BOB is being chased by two record companies. One, called CUDDLY Records, who have very little money, but has hearts in the right places, a near suicidal work ethic and habit of making utter sucesses. The other are BUNTY Records, moneyed by "the majors", mostly specialising in commercial dance music. HORNY BOB is horny to go off to foreign lands, so he decides to sign to BUNTY, which will give him enough cash to go there.

He also asks that SMACKHEAD PETE produces his album. "Woo-hoo!" PETE says. Fun! So HORNY BOB goes to foreign climbs, leaving me with a wump of computer data. SMACKHEAD PETE goes to work. After two weeks SMACKHEAD PETE gets phonecalls from BUNTY. Where is BOB? He should be back by now! BOB has lied to them. He's gone for longer than they say. The deadline for the first EP passes.

BOB returns. We're going for the full on album now. SMACKHEAD PETE tootles away, and has the first draft finished on time, although some of it is a bit rushed. TONKY WILLIAMS and LENIN THE GOAT from BUNTY records come down to PETE's house and discuss the mixes. HORNY BOB isn't present, too busy being horny and bobby. A trend emerges.

Then the rows over the tracklisting start. Relations deteriorate. BOB gets drunk and puts an unwieldly, downright stupid ending to one track and a load of ungodly noise over TONKY WILLIAMS' favourite track. PETE talks BOB down on the noise, but not on the silliness. PETE goes to master the album with TONKY and THE GOAT, being abandoned by them in a major city (not one of PETE's favourite things). PETE has to premiere this stupid, unruly track ending in the mastering suite to the BUNTY representives and the expensive mastering engineer. They all look at him like he's a gonk. 30 FUCKING SECONDS later HORNY BOB phones and says he doesn't want the ending. PETE feels like being born was probably a bad move. He also feels that artist and label are utterly unsuited to each other, and gets the feeling that all parties are beginning to feel that way.

Mastering done, the rows over tracklistings continue. Mixes come back from mastering utterly lacerated. Relations between BUNTY and BOB deteriorate further. BOB stops returning their phonecalls. PETE bangs head against wall. A trend emerges. No release dates are set.

Meanwhile, the lovely guys at CUDDLY records arrange BOB a gig at a major music industry showcase. It goes well, but collective alarm bells start ringing at the fact he is basically doing karaoke versions of his tracks. Not something you can charge 8 quid on the door for. BOB also chooses this sensitive time to get involved in a vicious love triangle-cum-square that ends up occupying 99% of his waking thoughts.

Breakdown.

SMACKHEAD PETE gets a phonecall from DR. WHY, he who is in charge of CUDDLY Records. Pete also reads some strange cryptic things on his Blog. Something is afoot. The two meet in a pub. The bombshell is dropped. BUNTY are threatening to take their ball home. HORNY BOB is in danger of losing his album, all his songs and even the name HORNY BOB if things don't improve. His EP is off the schedules. Vultures are looming. BUNTY have asked DR. WHY to manage BOB, and have asked PETE to organise a viable live set for him. We agree, for the love of the man and his ditties, to do it.

PETE meets with BOB to discuss these issues, instead ends up talking about the love square. A pattern emerges. PETE ends up being abandoned in a major city (not one of his favourite things) so BOB can chase this slippery piece of tail. More patterns emerge.

PETE sits back and has a good think about the live set. Kit needs to be bought. Rehersal space needs booking. Time to tap BOB for a bit of his advance cheque. It's gone. It's gone on the holiday, the love square and endless days spent in underwear eating bacon and watching asian horror flicks. Kit needs to be bought . . .

So PETE enlists the help of KEMPLETON and QIUZ, proud members of this very board to make the live experience happen. All goes well. BOB is asked to come down for rehersals. He is busy with the love square. Patterns are going apeshit. BOB finally appears, a rehersal in from of BUNTY goes well. DR. WHY is getting crazy with the promo ideas. Tracklisting debate is resolved, down to some brilliant DR. WHY mediation. What really ticks PETE off is that one track BOB insisted wouldn't be on there at the start is now one of the tracks he's insisting on. These issues resolved, things are on the up.

Which brings us to today. Here we are with a distracted, drunken, petulant artist who thinks nothing of seeing his friends slave for 3 weeks getting his live set together only to see them for an insultingly brief period when they travel miles to see him for a weekend, because, you guessed it, he was busy with the love square. Here we are with DR. WHY working 3 jobs at the same time, a band not being paid anything because of the spent advance when buying new kit and paying for maintanance of current kit is neccesary whilst BOB mopes around a major city fancy free. Here we are where some kid in Derby that BOB's never met has done more work on his project than he has in the last few months. Here we are with SMACKHEAD PETE's own recording prospects on hold until he sorts this sorry mess out, and four months of his time spent doing nothing but working on BOB's stuff. Here we are, here we are, here we are.

Regrets? I've got several. I should've told BOB to stuff his silly ending up his arse. I should've explained to him that advances have to pay for things like live bands. I should've been less wasted when I did some of the mixes. And I should've posted to Ask A Drunk more. Especially seeing as its made me hit the bottle damn hard at points.I can't promise normal service will be resumed as this is still ongoing, but I hope to speak to you soon.

She's got a TAIL,
She's got a TAIL,
She's got a TAIL that just won't fuckin' never quit!
Now my head is in a square.
I can't seem to get nowhere.
So I think I'll fuck my friends and throw a fit.

I love her TAIL
I love her TAIL
I love her TAIL the way a wino loves his kip.
But she turns her side to me.
So her ear is all I see.
And I end up trying to stick it in her hip.

I want her TAIL
I want her TAIL
I want her TAIL so bad it's all I think about.
My IQ has hit rock bottom.
And as for friends, I haven't got 'em,
Cuz I'm just a fucking stupid drunken lout.

Now I'm her TAIL
Now I'm her TAIL
Now I'm her TAIL who tails her all around the town.
Where she wanders I go, too.
She makes me wait outside the loo.
Now I'm stuck and it's her TAIL that I'm stuck on.

Don't worry, my writing skills are not yet par with that of university standards (I wish). So I won't bother trying to top Horny Bob's Lament with a creation of my own :) Hell, I haven't even taken underclassmen english yet, maybe that's why my writing is rusty on the "Kill the stupid people" question.

All I can say is: Rock on. Keep on writing.

Did you swallow or spit it out?

Any smaller and his head wouldn't be able to fit in there.