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Shirty in Phoenix Mode

Gracious Greetings Gaggle,

Yer old pal Shirty here, conspicuous by my presence.

Back from my near-dearth experience when all my bands suddenly folded back into The Matrix and left me high and…well, just high. I should have recognized the symptoms of holograms: stiff little fingers, inability to pronounce “bilious” and total lack of spontaneous intelligence.

Never fear. My phoenix instinct has kicked in and I have a back-up!

I’ve just signed to Turd Polishers International (TPI) a new sensation from Jolly Old England called The Brittles. Four personable fellows – Johann, Paolo, Jorge and Romulus – from the port city of Livermouth who are real flesh and blood (tested them all myself) and who eat actual food. That alone should make them world giants against the dazed ditzy din of zeros and ones pretending to be human and music.

I have some PR tricks ready so you might as well start saying next month’s new household words now: The Brittles and Brittlemania. Their sudden fan base will lovingly label them The Flab Four. Why? Because all four Brittles are morbidly obese, that’s why.

Fat is the new black – you heard it here first!

Rotund rules!

My first PR stunt is an all-day, all-night eat-in for peace. The slogan is War is over if you eat it. brittles The Brittles left to right: Paolo, Johann, Jorge, Romulus. The short one is the Fifth Brittle, Riggles who is the group’s manager and pecker checker. This is an early picture from when they performed under bridges in Livermouth and area. I’ve toned them down a bit but still leave nothing to the imagination because imagination is passe.

Now that dadbods are hot news at the checkouts, I’m trying to convince a popular magazine to name Paolo as The Sexiest Man in the World. All they need is one shot with his shirt off and this 423 pound boy is centerfold bound. Careful where you put those staples!

The video for The Brittles first smash hit Lunch is still in production. The boys keep eating the scenery! Those nutty Flabs! Snort! But you can be among the first and trendiest people in the world to hear Lunch on the player below.

Are you hungry for more? That’s a symptom of Brittlemania! Play it again. Satisfy yourself.

Another new act I have in the wings is the duo Sperk and Ank. Sperk is an obsolete, deregulated robot doorstop from Japan who sounds a lot like a young Smokey Robinson but even smokier. Ank is “a loose bone collection (19% flesh, 12% water) that escaped from a lab where horrible experiments took place,” according to its bio. Ank plays ganip ganop and trills like a Siamese cat.

As an aside: ganip ganops are now the trendiest musical instruments in the music business. Even Bjork has a matching pair!

Sperk and Ank are recording their first single as we speak. Release date pending the ultrasound results.

That’s my teaser for the new TPI acts. Many more to come as I keep turning over rocks to see who’s under there.

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine.

Surrey on down,


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Shirty’s Ether World Report

Greetings Fandoolants and Fandoolettas,

Your bud Shirty checking in wit cha from the ether world of sub-moronic fail music and custodial wincing which will blow your hair back if you got any left anywhere on your body. Custodial wincing is the latest health rage out here on the launching pad, Brutish Churlumpia. Listening to dumb music to feel smart is only the beginning. This billion dollar baby is waiting to be delivered, long overdue, angry and punching from the inside. Hand me the scalpel.

Speaking of that I have developed a burping disorder that, after arduous medical and semi-medical testing using needles, electrodes and penal insertions, turns out to be caused by an excess amount of hummus in my diet. (If you’re wearing a cap right now, hummus is like dog food for people.) I’ve joined HA (Hummus Anonymous) hoping to kick the habit and the burping. I’ll keep you apprised.

My shrink, Doctor Unequipped, says all is well and being beaten on my testicles is an important part of my cure. I’m beginning to have my doubts. I think he jumped on the S&M bandwagon too soon and is regretting it now. He can regret it more though.

Career-wise my new company, Chump Change for Judy, is growing like mad. I’ve hired six new debriefers to keep the underwear flowing in a downward direction. The only other position open right now is Smelling Organizer. If you like feces, go for it.

Six new bands that sound exactly the same have joined my talent roster at Turd Polishing International. TPI is overflowing with effulgent these days and the charts are reflecting it. Three of my acts have Top Ten hits on three diverse music charts:

  • The Litter Box Lions are Number Four on the Petulant Pet Top Ten with Fancy Feast Fiesta, a jolly instrumental with plenty of scratching, yowling and burying;
  • Poon Tang Lagoon are Number Two this week on the Nudists Who Eat Beef at the Beach Top Ten with I’m Itchy, You’re Itchy, Live With It, a ska romp that will be still be played a hundred years from now;
  • Dave Clark Five tribute band, the Dave Clark Fivish are Number One on the Worst Tribute Bands Ever Top Ten with their version of Bites and Polices. 

Bulletin! Bulletin! Just signed last night after sufficient coaxing and cajoling, the Tar Paper Wrappers are now part of the TPI herd! Their first release, Sandra Has Lice, I Feel Bilious will be out next week. Download with the upcode and thou shalt be wrapped! Click the pic for a TPW teaser.Snapshot 1 (23-09-2014 10-17 PM)

Been doing some goose hunting. Only been goosed twice so slow season so far.

Check out custodial wincing for sure!

Keep your plunder dry.



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Shirty Upclues

Heidi Ho Blubbers and Blabbers,

It’s your old pale ale pal Shirty with an upclue for you.

Two consecutive #1 hits have made Tapioca Hot Tub the new darlings of the Fidgety Set, especially boys 11 and 12 which is due largely to the stackability of Mauve Mavis, the band’s sumptuous grip and hover player. Says MM about her special demographic, “Rotate your hands, babies.”

Sheila, the ever-honest, gravity-defying music reviewer, has proven to the world that the energy and power of promotion pays off big time and can make even the least stand out amid the musical squalor of the 21st century!

Meaning that The Taps hold down #1 again on the Brain Failure Top Ten with their ditty Calypso Mind Control. Click the pic below to hear Sheila review all the Top Ten. Snapshot 1 (17-06-2014 7-49 PM) Some say it was the tune’s gruesome video that propelled it to the top slot. I contend that my promotional stunt of having the band live in a tent on top of a cell phone tower for a week decided the tune’s happy fate. It received international news coverage.

The downside, I guess, is the band were all fried with complete collapse of brain functions and a spate of radiation poisoning symptoms. The silver lining is their condition has not affected their musical abilities and they all said they had the best cell reception ever that week.

My success with THT has garnered me a new gig. I am now the Canadian Market Seepage Party Planner for a brand new beer called Idaho Strong Arm brewed by Burpage Brewery in Squinch, Idaho. The hook with Idaho Strong Arm is you can use it as a deodorant, too.

They want everybody to get hammered on their beer real soon so I’m inviting everyone who reads this to attend an Idaho Strong Arm party. Free beers for hours and hours. The bash is at the Come If You Can Party Rooms in the new Shifting Shoulders Motor Hotel in Squash Squander Heights Condomartmall at Levi and Levon. Some highlights of the party that may linger with you for days afterwards include:

  •  a dip in the clothing-optional pool for a swim with Gary, the mutant chlorine dolphin;
  • the exotic and adventurous buffet from Jimmy Crack Corn where you can taste their stacked venison, swallow dropping and zebra cheese panini. You won’t find that at Tim Horton’s!
  • sway to the mellow tones of our strolling musicians:
  • Arden, the deaf accordionist;
  • the Slinky Sisters who are “as musical as Tourettes gets,”
  • Thragund Stlyth who is blonde, Belgian, 16 and plays the sitar like a mofo;
  • the climax of the evening is the world premiere performance of a new stage play by Edgy Ernst Angster called The Haunted Dresses: A Wardrobe in Search of a Cast. Empty costumes reveal their inner longings and outer shortfalls. Special appearances by Cotton Wrinkles, a self-ironing shirt, as The Uncreaseable; and a gay army boot named Loose Laces as The Anti-Uncreaseable. New cutting edge Empathetic Fabric Technology EFT makes it all possible.
  • plus, there’s bound to be a few strange things at the party, too.

Hope you can fit it in.

I found clown footprints around my roses!!

Colour between the lines,


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Email from Shirty

Hi Ho Fools and Tools,

What better day to update you on my alleged career!

Last missive I told you those numbed-down slotheads Tapioca Hot Tub hired me to promote their vile drivel. I seem to have a talent for it since their new “song” Marshall McLuhan Steels His Gaze just hit NUMBER ONE on the Brain Failure Top Ten!! Click pic and see for yourself. Snapshot 1 (29-03-2014 9-22 PM) I guess my publicity stunt of having the band members waterboarded in public on the main drag of Vancooper has really paid off. You’ll be wondering how I can top that. Just watch me!

It’s our special day, widgets! Do something foolish!

My fly keeps unzipping itself and my shoelaces won’t stay tied.

Still pigeon-toed,


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Email from Shirty – Marshall McLuhan Steels His Gaze by Tapioca Hot Tub

Hi Funsters and Dumbsters,

It’s Lil Shirty checkin’ in wit chas.

Since we last talked, Sinatra’s people (dead people have more fucking “people” now than they did when they were alive!) harpooned my GHB’d show, test audiences rejected my Jackie Wilson’s Last Months show, a whole slew of fucking lawyers from the likes of Little Richard, evasLittle Eva, Little Anthony, Little Joey, Little Caesar, Little Steven, Little Dick, Lil Snatch, Lil Yeoman, that bunch, descended on me when I mounted my Little History of Rock and Roll. I thought it was an excellent way to get lots of midgets working but others saw it otherwise.

Which gets us to now. Are you sitting down? I have a legit job!  Well, more legit than any ever before. I’m the PR person for the hottest new band out of Brotish Curlumpia – Tapioca Hot Tub!! They are yummy. They will give you erection, wet panties, icing on cake, whatever you want, whatever you need, they will give you. Try not to think of fish eyes in goo when we say tapioca or, actually, think whatever the fuck you want. How’s that for a pitch? THT suck big time, of course. Here’s a preview of their new fake hit, some dreadful drivel, and below a look at the PR material I have aroused for them. Lap it up sheeple. The end is nigh.

Someone keeps putting spoons in my mailbox. Can that be good?

Hugs and Ughs,


Tapioca Hot Tub, the sensational new band from Brotish Curlumpia, are storming up the brain failure charts with their new hit, Marshall McLuhan Steels His Gaze.


Tapioca Hot Tub are the only band to outsell Brotish Curlumpia’s première music act, heavy metal band Expletif FU, whose latest album, Pushing In Rabbits (a loose English translation), has sales of nearly a million. Tapioca Hot Tub has exceeded that number and now hold Brotish Curlumpia’s best selling title.

About their success, Canola Pan Spray, drummist for Tapioca Hot Tub, says, “We are closing to robots and closing to horses. Spray it around. You smell us coming in you.” Tapioca Hot Tub lead ganip ganop player Melty Smeltz says, “We’re more than just man pudding. Look. See.” Yes, they are!

Now you can be among first humans on Earth planet to hear their brand new song and watch their brand new video for Marshall McLuhan Steels His Gaze.

Tapioca Hot Tub will be touring Europe soon and elsewhere beyond. Be sure to find them out there.

In case you don’t know it Marshall McLuhan was a WWII spy from Winnipee with a penchant for smelly cigars and farting while seated. He was married to Marilyn Monroe. I miss him.

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Email from an Old Friend

Hello Fandimentals,

The Powers-That-Be – I’m always suspicious of their motives – are trying to coax me back on another western tour, this time even further than before…all the way to an island! To Vitrocia, Brotish Curlumpia where I have been promised an exclusive three-afternoon engagement at the If-You-Knew-Where-You-Were-This-Is-Where-You’d-Be Nursing Home in uptown snowy Vitrocia. The summer weather is so unpredictable there – one minute it’s sleet, the next minute it’s brimstone. WTF? Makes me rollick.

Elsewise, the other snag is the “Home” won’t let me do the big finale to my Leslie Gore tribute when I set my blond swoopy wig on fire during You Don’t Own Me because the sprinkler system might drown some residents.


Ida Wipes and her band, the Pure and Cleans (formerly the Mop and Glos until the lawsuit), have offered to back me up if I resurrect my one-man show where I play both Tom Jones and Jim Morrison comparing erections while they croon their hits condensed into 30 second sound bites and lip synced intentionally poorly as a left-handed compliment to the artists and their bulbous contributions to Public Hard-ons Throughout History. I haven’t found a venue in Van or anywhere in the BC, not even Whistler, that will touch it. Awww, go ahead, touch it. It’s fake anyways, touch it!

My third and final, at this time, option is the all-new, “completely-tasteless” as the poster says, Frank Sinatra GHB’d, Roofed Over by the Date Rape Drug. It’s really only one song but I won’t tell you which one, it would spoil the surprise, in fact, the whole show. Imagine how Frank might sound after he’d been hit hard on the side of the head three times with a forty-pound mallet. Disoriented, right? And then some…beyond entertainment, in fact. At my test shows in the rear basement of the Pembina Highway Winky Will Feel You Up (a new nationwide franchise where you can be anonymously molested in darkness for sixty bucks and up), audience hooting and Bic-lit napkin throwing indicated I needed to make substantial changes to the show, starting with Birch, the fluffer. “Can Frank be less like a zombie sometimes?” was the most asked question. So…I’m working up something completely different, all hush hush for now but you’ll be the first to know when “the bird takes flight.”

What else? I’ve been shitting rubies lately.

Gotta fly.


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