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Saturday, 9 June 2012

Following The Mozziah Day 269 Saturday June 9th 2012


(The setting is Morrissey's bedroom, in his mam's detached house, in the leafy outskirts of Cheshire. Morrissey has been shut away in his room for a number of days, refusing to talk to anybody. He has even been unable to write his daily diary due to a black cloud of depression hovering over him. The depression is starting to lift, and Morrissey starts to write in his diary. It is present day.)

Dear Diary/Oscar.......perhaps I should address you as 'Dear Uncle Oscar'? No, that won't work, the very word 'uncle' makes me think of that repulsive reptile over at so-low. Let me start again, Dear Oscar, that's better, I'll just keep it nice and simple, but Oh Oscar, nothing ever is simple, why is life always so utterly shit? Even I, with my low expectations, sorry, did I say low, I meant my non existent expectations, for I am indeed now devoid of any expectational feeling, but even so, 'I', a man devoid of expectational feeling, have been hurt once more. Oh Oscar, why do I still feel each and every blow? I am the singing equivalent of a punch drunk boxer, but there is no referee to step in and stop 'this' fight. The blows just keep raining in on me. I look to you Oscar, in my corner of the ring, hoping that perhaps you will throw the towel in on my behalf, but you just stand there; laughing, mocking, smiling and gently dabbing your brow with the towel....MY towel.

      So, where do I start today Oscar? The blows have been coming in so thick and fast, it is hard to write comprehensively. It is just as well these diaries of mine aren't read by anybody, as 'even' these, my inner most private thoughts, would be ripped to pieces by those cunts at So-low and The G*ardian. They would label my diaries as the ramblings of a mad man. They all think I've lost the plot you know, they all think I've gone mad, but what none of them realise is that I never had a plot to lose, and what IS madness anyway? I've never doubted I'm mad, at least I do so hope I am, I'll be very disappointed if 'this' isn't madness. And not 'just' common mad, I do so hope I'm in the 'completely and utterly mad' bracket.

God, they'd be right, this really 'has' got no shape, why do I bother? Huh, how many times have I written in these pages asking 'why do I bother?' A fair few. Well, it is yet another 'why do I bother' day today. As I have started in such a rambling fashion, I will continue in the same vein, I will just allow my innards to spew out over the page, so let's start with Walker, the little drummer boy. Yet another musician to abandon me. I have now lost count of how many times I have been dumped over the years. All I ask of these people is that they hold some sort of tune together while I recite my poetry, and in return I pay them handsomely, feed and water them, and keep them warm, what more do they need? No doubt Walker will find a far, far better singer than I to bang his drum for. Oh Oscar, I really should know better after all these years, but I STILL take the rejection so very personally. Oh mama, why did he do it?

As I look at the word Walker on the page, I can't help thinking of Private Walker in Dad's Army. He was the first of that gang to die. One minute he was filming, the next minute, dead. A man in his forties, just like you Oscar. Why couldn't I have been taken in my forties, then I would've been immortalised forever. It's no good now, what's the use of dying at fifty three, it's too old to be considered a young death. Jacko messed it up, fifty was a bit too late. Seeing as he achieved nothing in the last twenty five years of his life, he'd have been far better off to have called it a day in 1983, he could've joined the greats. I bet he wishes he'd found that doctor death fellow earlier. Elvis and Marc got it right of course, they'd both done everything they'd needed to do, so they left. Why oh why have I been left to limp on? 2006 would've been a good time for me to go, just as Ringleader was at number 1, and I could have left them with my masterpiece, 'Life Is a Pigsty'. But oh no, I've been left here, punch drunk, staggering from one fight to the next. Perhaps I have another masterpiece in me, perhaps that is why I'm still here, or are the So-low lot right, am I destined to become a parody of myself? Do I care? Do I care? Do I care? I don't even know anymore. Oh black cloud.

     The media want me to hang up the old lungs of course, and now yet another nobody from the G*ardian has crawled out to write me off. According to Owen Hatherley, my "powers left me" shortly after 1987. Did I ever have any powers? It's pathetic. Mind you, at least The G*ardian still bother to write about me, none of the others do, and as for 'anybody' writing about my beautifully mysterious blog, well, it seems destined to remain undiscovered forever. I 'really' mustn't let the media get to me, I 'really' should have learnt by now. Right, I won't dwell on it for a minute longer. Hold on, let me just google the Hatherley cunt.....born in 1981 in Southampton. Enough said. I shall never play Southampton again, not that I do anyway. Wanker.

  Walker will soon be forgotten of course, but it's the hassle of having to find a new member of the cast. And where is Boz when I need him? DJing in the USA. What is it with these muso's  that they all want to be dj's? In Joyce's case there is no choice, nobody wants him as a drummer, they're all too scared he'll sue them, and rightfully so. If anybody ever asks me for a previous employer's reference, I shall tell them the truth, I shall just write, 'Beware, this man is a cunt'.

I see somebody has posted a video interview with Joyce on the internet. Why I felt the need to watch it, I don't know, it's a bit like the compulsion to watch the jubilee, you know it's all load of old bollocks, but by watching, the confirmation that it IS a load of old bollocks, is somewhat comforting. Well, Joyce's interview didn't disappoint, it was a load of old bollocks, and those CAN'T be his own teeth, they've got to be dentures, but either way, 'I' paid for them. He looks like one of the fucking Osmonds. And what old bollocks is he spouting this time? He says he wants a Smiths reunion, but apparently not for the fame and fortune, but because it  would give so much pleasure to so many people. The very same words JM used in his interview a few weeks ago. Pathetic. They're ALL pathetic. If they think I'm coming back to 'bring pleasure', they can fuck right off. If people 'really' want 'the pleasure', then all they need to do is buy a ticket for a Morrissey concert, NOTHING'S changed; same songs, same words, same singer, just different people keeping the beat.

Talking of keeping the beat, that reminds me, I really will have to do something about getting a new drummer, we've only got a month and we're back out on the road, and what's more, mam's gone and booked another concert in Scotland, she says she forgot about the drummer thing. I suppose I could employ Joyce, just to piss off Walker, although Walker wouldn't care, he probably wouldn't even notice, or is he more switched on than I give him credit for? The bastard's only gone and posted on so-low. It's a good thing he's left, or I'd have sacked the cunt. I'll say one thing for Joyce, he's got thick skin, why would he want a reunion after all the things I've called him? Oh yes, to bring pleasure. What a load of bollocks. I wonder if he'd play for free? If it's just about bringing pleasure, of course he would. No, the first thing the greedy cunt would want to know, is how much he's getting. I might put out feelers though, see if he'd be prepared to play for £50 a night.....and wear speedos. Urgh, perish the thought, but let's see 'just' how much he wants it.

Oh Oscar, I can't be bothered to write anything else today, this is a complete rambling nonsense; Walker, Joyce, Hatherley and the jubilee have sapped me of all energy, but I'm glad I watched the jubilee concert, it has reminded me of just how important I am to the people, they have NOBODY else. Thank heavens for Elton, the perfect reminder of why life isn't so bad. Perhaps I should 'really' start humiliating Boz, and dress him like Elton, not that Boz's dresses are anything to do with me, in fact he's ruining my reputation as a serious rocker by dressing himself like that. I know what he's up to, he wants to get away from me too, just like Walker, but Boz hasn't got the balls to tell me. He's been watching all those re-runs of M*A*S*H, and he thinks that by doing a 'Corporal Clinger', I'll discharge him, well he's wrong, I shall continue to pretend that I haven't even noticed, two can play at that game Boz old son, you're not getting away 'that' easily.

Right, I've cut myself off for too long; bollocks to former drummers, bollocks to two bit journalists and bollocks to the jubilee. Life, however unnecessary and cruel, goes on.


  1. well thats cheered me up no end, i m off out soon to watch the euros

  2. Excellent work Rat! And yes, perish the thought of seeing Joice in Speedos! I think I would be physically sick!

  3. Great Blog I have always enjoyed your sense of humor. As for a replacement drummer can't offer much, as my family never did hold them in high esteem. This dates back to when I used to follow my brother's local band and he never had much good to say about them(he played guitar)and often commented how they were mentally off some how. As his best friend was the drummer in their band, I could see where he'd get this idea, since the drummer thought of himself as a 'surfer dude' and would only play the drums barefoot and would go surfing on Lake Michigan(you can actually surf it at times) which is not quite the same as an ocean, and as this is Wisconsin, better known for winter activities than warm, sandy, tropical beaches, you can understand why it wasn't too hard to agree with him. Oh, by the way, did I mention, that the drummer ran off with my brother's wife?


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