DJ Crumbsuckler at your Service

The Councillor gives you free advice for today’s awful lifestyles.

SMOKERS

I am aware that you often worry about smoking when ‘il fait du vent’. In windier times, please do not panic; as long as you flick your ash OVER the ashtray, you have done your part. And God bless you for it.

Speaking of God, here’s a man who has had many a cute choirboy in his career. I suggest you take heed of his gropeful sermons.

HINDENBURG PARTY

Themed parties, much like a good gay comeout, are becoming increasingly difficult to make dramatic enough for decent effect. I recently held a Hindenburg party at the DJ Council, which was strewn with hydrogen-filled party balloons. It was extremely successful – a handful of Germans died. If your party includes a sleepover, you might want to incorporate a “Fuck me Fruhstuck” for good measure.

Further advice can be found from the inventor of the Vicars and Tarts student nights at Slough Chicago Rock Café himself, Friar Cous-Cous.

FAT MEN

The fattest person you’ve ever met might not be fat at all. ‘Fat suits’ are capable of supplying even the slimmest person with the physique of an enthusiastic glutton. Consider this when next you visit Birmingham’s Burger King.

BLOGS

Anyone can write a blog. I have, but I am not anyone. You are, but you've done jack shit. This doesn’t prove me wrong though, and, given that I am right, it makes you a lazy shit. You need to prioritise as part of a new time management regime.

THE ATKINS DIET

A warning for vegetarians – eating nothing but meat may not be possible if you exclude meat on the grounds of moral sanctimony. My advice would be to change your ways, perhaps being one of those excellent vegetarians who eats chicken. If you need help in slaughtering a chicken, a step-by-step guide, complete with diagrams and detailed legends, can be found here.

Letters to the Council

Sir

I recently had some friends over to watch adverts on ITV1. We noted that there was a new advert for Sainsbury’s insurance which depicted a receipt by the name of “Little Bill”. I find this character intensely irritating, and was wondering on your opinion of the animated little chap?

Yours

Brandy Monacle


Dear Brandy

I too have seen this advert, and am aware of the character. I have to agree that clever though the play on words is (bill in fact also being a receipt, and the stress on the “little” not only confirming the physical size of Little Bill but also the potential financial savings to be gained by Sainsbury’s insurance), he is indeed an irritating character.

But I believe it goes further than this. I for one am troubled by Little Bill’s apparent streetwise ways and arrogant swagger. This is compounded by various people recognising him and hailing him in the street which implies somewhat social whoring qualities which give him a shady, untrustworthy air. I believe he probably spends more time socialising, womanising, gambling and masturbating than he does working towards affordable deals for all. Now who would want to buy insurance from someone like that?

But a word of warning: if faced with the above character, and the only other alternative is buying insurance from Michael Winner, I suggest you do business with the rapist, rather than Little Bill.

Kind regards

DJ Councillor Gyro Kredit



Sir

I recently had the good fortune to join the Jamster Club. And what a club it is! Since joining, I have not only been able to enjoy the scooter-popping drilltonenoizz of the Crazy Frog, Nessie the Dragon and Sweetie the Chick in all their polyphonic glory whenever my mother calls, but I have also been granted exclusive access to Stringfellows, Ministry of Sound and the Nag’s Spleen pub, as well as receiving many substantial discounts on CDs and clothes from top high street stores. I have also, rather confusingly, been given access to student union bars, and been issued a rather intriguing timetable, complete with deadlines.

I urge your other readers to do the same.

Yours truly

‘Gordon’ PysssssSs


Dear Hardon

Although the Jamster Club does exist (and you may well be a member!), it is worth noting that you have in fact joined a university. Universities are much like clubs, allowing you to gain access to areas and jobs which other ‘normal people’ cannot, and paying large sums of money for the privilege. It is likely that you were eating some jam when you completed the university’s application form. This is probably where the Jamster confusion arose.

Best wishes

Gyro




Sir

I have been invited to a fancy dress party with an Elvis theme. Everyone’s going to go as the King himself, but I want to be original! Any ideas, please?

Colonel Panic


Dear Colonel

Fancy dress parties are a difficult and I believe stressful beast. I find the key to planning your outfit should lie with the character him/herself: what would Elvis himself do? I have been to such an Elvis night and asked myself the same thing. So I usually get off my face on smack, fuck some groupies, pile on the pounds and die on the toilet.

Your truthfully yet ambiguously

Gyro Kredit


Dear Sir

You bastard shitface. I was reading through your cunting shithole of a tripeblog last night, and I was abso-fucking-lutely dis-fucking-graced with the whoregash dickface text which met my shitsmeared eyes. You’re a cunting nightmare.

I hope you die of Aids, you grandmotherfucking prick.

Sincerely

Ritchie Headgive (edited for bad language)


Dear Ritchie

I refer you to the new Independent Blog Committee, who will ensure this never happens again.

Theirs

Gyrate Cretin

Your Lifepipes - A Lament

Remember that sound
Ye heerd aroond
Last yearr in GlenMorickswythe?

Those were my pipes
Those are your life.

Remember me plaain’
In torrential reen
Until I disappeared?

The fog did surroond
But ye still heerd the soond!

Ye cannot shoot
Nor block me oot
From yeer minde, noor the soond of my pipes.

Expull them frum you
And ye will die too!

Pumping through
From head to too
Ye’d be a fool to shut them oot because

These are ye pipes
These are your life.

Would that I were, a Man with a Dog

If I had a dog, I’d be really pissed off with it, because it just shat in my bath.

Olympic Grimes

At this time of British back-slapp and enflamed Frenchgloat, let us not find ourselves in the for-ghettos of Forgetsville. Muse a while on those unsung heroes of yestergames, who, quite frankly, were taking part in games deemed too silly for BBC coverage:


Dolph Hittler: A man less like his almost-namesake you could not expect to meet. Black-skinned, blond-haired, bald, with absolutely no blond moustache, 23-year-old Hittler stunned the crowds of the German Games in 1936 by losing to Poland in the 400 metres. Defeat followed defeat in all of the track events, until an unlikely victory against the British secured a very strange gold indeed.

Hendrix McFlavourdd: Won an award for typical British sportsmanship in the Games of 1946, held in London’s very own London. Due to take part in the mens’ 100 metres, McFlavourdd’s race very nearly clashed with his son’s sports day at school. In an unprecedented move of professionalism and touching fathergreat, the athlete took part in and won the parents’ egg and spoon race, carried on running the 10 miles to the Olympic Stadium, and joined the race just as the starting pistol fired its blanks all over the sky.

James Metalux: Threw a record wobbly of 3 hours 42 minutes at the 1952 Games. The record, which is still unbeaten, stemmed from a decision in the men’s 400 metres, in which the false-start linesman was himself accused of false-starting his false-start call, long before it was due.