Friday, 11 November 2011

Hello Sir! Good week?

Hello friends!

At some point between, or possibly during... there may have been a beer or two involved, recording Sessions 102 and 103 I happened to mention to our super-awesome guest hosts that in the very early days of our show we used to "improve" another podcast by writing emails to the host in correct English. The host of this show is the very same man that introduces your favourite fortnightly beer-fuelled-swear-fest with such catch phrases as:

I have no idea what these guys are talking about half the time,
I think that's part of the charm.

Those boys are foul, they should be ashamed of themselves!

What the fuck is that about?!

You see when this show was nothing but a twinkle in Dazzers eye and a mild cramp in my crotch we used to listen to a podcast produced by the angriest man in the entire world.
A man named Jeckles.
It was his show that was partially responsible for our format, In fact it was his very show that is still responsible for us playing music at the half way point with some delicious droppage just after. When we get fucking email that is...


Anyway, myself and old Brommers used to bombard this chap with solid gold emails on a regular basis right up to and including the very beginnings of your favourite place to be the one and only L.I.P! His tripping and flailing all over well crafted English we had sent in was one of my primary joys in the whole world.

So here's the thing, shortly after recording Session 1 - Canadia myself along with Canadian pals Mrs Corinna Carlson and All Buttered Crumpets and had a chin wag with the man in question about all sorts of shit.
It was a fantastic time I must say. Rather than share the whole (now unobtainable) volume of SBR I have cut merely the call in and the email segment including the regular gold from myself and Dazzer.

All you need to do is simply right click HERE and select "Save Link As..." to download just over thirty minutes of what was a classic hour and twenty minute volume of the regular weekly dose of shitty gold that we had come to expect.

We miss your bile sir. Come on our fucking show!

For the time being, why not enjoy a classic par for the course email I sent in to his show on 15.10.2009. Enjoy:

Hello Sir!


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 assumed 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 of the play I have titled:

The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark

Act 1, Scene 4, The Tragedy of Jeckles, Prince of Denmark:


*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 fucking Vista?!
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!

Enter Ghost

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?


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?
Fuck off!

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.



C.J "Meet the new Bard, Same as the old Bard" Hixon


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