Sebastian Horsley At Foyles

Ignore the opening few minutes and the my drunken Camera. This is an unedited experience. Not much of him exists.


You’ve probably seen this but oooohhh ..

… fuck it.

These insufferable pricks have been transformed into Acid House gods. I have been singing this in my overdosed mind for weeks. So, now my dears I present this Ear Worm to you on a buttery biscuit base.

I didn't make it and I still like it.

Big Mac Wins The Big Match

Hello Football Enthusiasts of the Electro Globe. I feel compelled for inebriated reasons to pass on another secret of my single success as a 21st Century Manchester Uniteeeed Tribute Football Team Soccer Manager in Andalucia, Spain.

I keep them on a semi liquid diet of MacDonalds Big Match Macs for two weeks before the game and then announce a complete withdrawal of the privilege should the team attempt to lose: Sound familiar? (See previous post).

All important Team Physical Fitness is obtained by sporadic nocturnal visits to the said; “Mac'Eh'De” eatery, followed by a breathless stagger around the outer walls of Ronald's Gym Club for urination and then on to the van, or within.

On Match Days we repeat the same procedure but then take the detour of a perilous sprint into LIDL (Lumpy Industrial Deutsch Lard) for a Supermarket Dash cardiac workout to obtain Economic Germananic Foodstuffs. Then all back to the Pre-Match Mobility Scooter Nirvana and BBQ'D Burnt Weener, that is if we manage not to crash the van into a crossing cow, again.