Brings back vivid memories of when me and my mate Ray went on a trip to Dresden. We met this rotund goth in a bar, head to toe with tattoos and piercings, real filth and after a while took her into the disabled bogs for a spit roast. We were both pumping away in her with Napalm Death on in the background and her wailing "MEIN GOTT" at the top of her lungs. I remember spaffing all over her back just as Siege of Power kicked in. As i shoot over her, she takes Ray's cock out of her gob and says "do you want fries with that?" in a faux American accent. Anyway, we go outside and there's this gammy little geezer in a wheelchair sitting there furious, giving me daggers, because he's had to wait so long, so I lean into him and I go "I hope you have as much fun in there as we just did you little cunt".

Have you ever been showering late at night with your grandmother and accidentally slipped over causing your face to press snugly against her vulva? This record felt like that wholesome family moment. Like a hugging embrace from an old friend...who's a massive racist.Like using a dildo for the first time, but it's a hand-me-down from your brother. Interesting, but perverse.

1986 brought us Topgun, Maradona's hand of God and Infected by The The. What clusterfuck of a year it was. I can't think of anything good associated with it. I was in a new romantic phase, getting into Eastenders and trying to avoid getting AIDS (unsuccessfully). Bad memories.

I lost my virginity to Van Morrison. To be clear, I don't mean whilst listening to Van Morrison, I mean he stuck his knob in my bum. 'Twas the summer of '71, me a shy farm hand on the verge of becoming a man, him an established musician using his power and influence to take advantage of a pre-pubescent stable boy. The memory still lingers like a dark, unwavering trauma. He needs to be stopped.

As a former locust abortion technician myself, I can confirm that this record truly represents what an under appreciated role we have society. It really gives us a voice.

Got spacked out of me heed to this!

Glad he's dead.

Ooooh they sound better than the birds I normally end up with. The last one sounded like a hungover Johnny Vegas gargling gravel out of a weasel's armpit. Squealed like a dirty hog when I slipped it in her wrongun. Tells me she was pissing rusty blood out of her ass for 6 weeks. Pints of the stuff. 3 stars and a bag of chips.

Old dusty tits, you son of a bitch.

Ahh 1977. I was more into punk than this shite. Spikey hair, ripped jeans and sucking off wheelies in alleyways was my game. ELO can fuck right off.

They didn't run far enough in my opinion. It was more like that marathon where Paula Radcliffe bend down and took a runny shit at the side of the road.

Phwoar! I'd love to cut their slits...ideally if at least one of them was underage.

Oh my god, it just took me away to somewhere else...where I was murdering over and over.

I can't stop thinking about my girlfriend fucking other men.

Has anyone ever watched an episode of Ex on the Beach? Jesus Christ, is this what people are like now? Psychopaths. Back in my day instead of shouting "CUNT" at eachother every 5 minutes and shagging eachother's girlfriends, we would put on this album and just chill out...and then shag eachother's girlfriends.

Oh boy! What an album! Had me bopping around my living room like...a chirping cricket -Until the third song anyway. Then things turned dark. It's been dark ever since. So dark. So bleak. So cold.

Love of bit of Frankie. The man has such a smooth voice and such a massive hog of a cock. Yes, Frank son. Charming the ladies with your tone and then slamming them with your bone. What an icon.

Ahh I remember going on a geography field trip to Stafford back when this dropped. I saw myself as a bit of a bad ass motherfucker - well as much as an eleven year old could be. I remember learning all of the words to Fuck Tha Police to try and impress a girl I really fancied. On a break time, me and my mate Stanley decided we would wander over and try and show off to this girl and a group of her friends by performing it in front on them. We had the baggy Jean's, the caps, the attitude, but although we wanted to, just about stopped short of blacking up. We were feeling confident and thought we had done a great job and that the girls would now desire our 11 year old white boy bodies. A short while later, our teacher pulled us to one side. The girls had obviously grassed us up for using inappropriate language and "being weird". Our parents were called and I was grounded for two weeks. Two years later I had fingered two of those girls...because I'm a bad ass motherfucker.

Kala by M.I.A? Who the fuck do you think I am? I'll tell you who I am, I'm *checks username* ... I'm Nigel Spackman. I can't be listening to this garbage, son, I have a reputation to uphold. But here we go... Update: I think it's changed by life. I'm weeping into my Quavers here man.

Hark! Is that an Angel? No. It's this terrific little album from 1970. John Barleycorn must die, but what a way to go out! Rest in peace, Corndog. X

I was watching a BBC4 documentary about duck rustling in the 13th century at the weekend and it blew my mind. This album has a similar effect. The unreachable ambition shown by both Radiohead is reminiscent of the infamous duck rustlers and really comes to the fore on 'Fitter Happier'. A loveable, adventurous romp, with charming pond dwelling creatures. I was on the edge of my seat throughout.

Maybe it's time to take of my rose tinted glasses with this album. I was a massive fan when I was a spotty teen, living on a diet of Monster Munch, cherry cola and danger wanks. I haven't listened to this reford in going on 25 years, so hearing it now and being transported back to that excitement, that optimism, that youthful exuberance that I felt then makes me feel that maybe, just maybe I'm not the old man I thought I was. It was a relief and a pleasure to rekindle my love affair -like sugar on my tongue.

Oh, I am the quarry, am I? I'm not sure what villainous plans you have for me Morrissey, but I'm only half interested in what you have to say. Are you planning on drilling into me? It that your twisted fantasy, is it? To have me, ME! covered in vegetables, laid out in front of you, legs spread with my coin piece pointed towards you, trembling, whilst you warble miserably about foreigners and meat, licking your lips and greasing up your penis. You sick, vegan, racist, self satisfied, bequiffed prick. I'm in.

If only there was some sort of suicide prevention hotline that could have been called to stop this abomination from being made. RIP mum .

The GOAT. Just a sublime piece of music mastery from Waters and Gilmour. The Wall moves with a nimble grace and takes you on a transcendental journey. It challenges conventional themes and the system in one Herculean swipe. A powerful and exquisite tour de force - each and every one of those bricks in the wall delivers a knockout blow, leaving you dazzled and spinning in all the colours of the spectrum before delicately drizzling you on the canvas. Yes, I mostly watch interracial porn these days.

George really found his voice in this one, in more ways than one. What a set of pipes he has on him here. Doesn't now though, sadly....he's dead.

1986 brought us Topgun, Maradona's hand of God and Infected by The The. What clusterfuck of a year it was. I can't think of anything good associated with it. I was in a new romantic phase, getting into Eastenders and trying to avoid getting AIDS (unsuccessfully). Bad memories.

Crowded House? That's because the government has let so many immigrants into Britain. They've not only taken the weather with them, but our jobs, our women, our country. Go home. Brexit means Brexit.

I'm still too seething about Brexit from yesterday, but here goes. If this is one of the top 1001 albums of all time, then I voted remain. A complete waste of time and money - not Brexit, this album.

A wee angry bad tempered man with strange eyes. The bloody best of British. A blowjob from Mr. Blobby.

Glugging red wine all night to this one. Going to sound like a frog farting through his foreskin tomorrow. This one bent me over and fucked me up the arse.... no offence to any of you guys.

Brings back vivid memories of when me and my mate Ray went on a trip to Dresden. We met this rotund goth in a bar, head to toe with tattoos and piercings, real filth and after a while took her into the disabled bogs for a spit roast. We were both pumping away in her with Napalm Death on in the background and her wailing "MEIN GOTT" at the top of her lungs. I remember spaffing all over her back just as Siege of Power kicked in. As i shoot over her, she takes Ray's cock out of her gob and says "do you want fries with that?" in a faux American accent. Anyway, we go outside and there's this gammy little geezer in a wheelchair sitting there furious, giving me daggers, because he's had to wait so long, so I lean into him and I go "I hope you have as much fun in there as we just did you little cunt".

"The Dove from Above" is a large prop animal suspended above the contestants on Shooting Stars merely for the purpose of bearing six key words for further questions. Guests would be prompted to "coo" down the dove. "Coo. Coo. Coo." Noteable cooers are Johnny Vegas and Take That's Mark Owen.

Well, Nigel Spackman knows a thing or two about teenage fan clubs, let me tell you. As a footballing superstar and high street heart throb, I often had to deal with groups of young...boys screaming in my presence. At first it's exciting and you love the attention, but soon it begins to chip away at your soul. The smile once so bright, becomes dimmer and you start to hate the little fuckers. "Nigel! Nigel! Give us a wave. Can we have an autograph? What are you having for supper? Can we get in the bath with you again?". Tiring. I didn't hit that boy though, no matter what you've read. He deserved it, but I didn't hit him. I should have hit him.

Speaking of the kneeling young; the youngest girl I ever got a blow job from passed away this week. I used to babysit for her and her older sister back in the early 2000s. Polite, pretty girl, couldn't hold a mouthful of cum to save her life though.

Rock n Roll at its finest. A fucking heavyweight of an album. Jimmy's axe work is sensational and Robert's vox are piercing. I'd take your mum to uncle Brian's abattoir and bang her to this one. Bang her in amongst the hanging dead meat.

Why do squirrels gather at cemeteries? Are all squirrels goths?

Massive boners all round for this one I'm sure. Speaking of massive boners, I responded to one of those 'spam' emails regarding Viagra last month and the company kindly sent me over 6,000 little blue pills. Needless to say I've had an unbelievably painful dick for 26 days now. I'm in agony. Please help me.

As a former locust abortion technician myself, I can confirm that this record truly represents what an under appreciated role we have society. It really gives us a voice.

Oh Reggie Dwight you old dog. What a treat this is! From the haunting Goodbye Yellow Brick Road to the frenzy of Saturday Night's Alright, just hit after hit. Look at those platform shoes! You'll snap your bleeding ankle, you daft apeth. By all means say your goodbyes, but be careful on those bricks, you silly sausage.

Did I miss some albums here? I'm fuckin livid! My asshole was flapping during this. Fuckin love to drive angry to this. I'm like a roll n rock Derek Bird when this comes on.

Lenny Kravitz is the dirty slut who broke my mother's heart.

Unfortunately, I tested positive for Covid 19 today, so I wasn't really concentrating on this. I remember it being a dope ass motherfucker of an album when I first heard it though.

 But, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel. And as they were frightened and bowed their faces to the ground, the men said to them, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? ...

FUCKIN' YES!!!!

Speaking of loo reads. I was reading 'Being Freddie' by Andrew "Freddie" Flintoff whilst squeezing out the most painful, dark, foul smelling, Guinness shit yesterday. I must say, what a funny and articulate young man he is. To be a world class cricketer, who goes out on the lash at the drop of a ball, try your hand and boxing and they become a national tv treasure, you really have to hand it to the man. I bet he gets the Guinness shits a lot too. By jove, it was brutal, it felt like molten lava pouring out of my soul.

Ooooooh mama. I once met Peter Hook in the bathroom of a strip club. He had a very powerful stream which made me feel like less of a man, as my useless penis could only spray out a few pale yellow drops of disappointment. As a result of that blow to my psyche, I went back out there and picked out the most coked up stripper I could find. She took me into the back and in a rage I thumped her round her temple, knocking her to the ground. As the blood trickled from her nose, I knew I had become a new, powerful alpha male. I laughed heartily. She died.

I had a right good snore up to this. Fucked me right off. Right, I'm off to guzzle a gallon of Guinness in a beer garden. Ta-ra.

When I was 16, I asked a girl out called Lauryn. She laughed in my face. Feeling low I decided to go to the 24 hour garage just down the road to mask my disappointment by buying some top shelf porn mags. I didn't need Lauryn, I could have a great time by myself. It was only as I was nearly at the counter, ready to pay, that I noticed it was my uncle working. In a panic, I disgarded the porn mags and instead got a cheese and onion pasty and had to satisfy my needs with that instead.

Not this moaning xenophobe again. I'm still trembling here, with him stood behind me, greasing up his penis, forcing me to eat brussel sprouts. Vegan tosser.

I often go to the park alone at night and eat Quavers whilst masturbating and watching the ducks swimming in the pond. I've never been caught. I honestly believe there's nothing wrong with it and the little show off ducks enjoy the attention. So, what are you going to do about it?

I'd shag her

Yes, I fancy her. I would shave off her pubic hair and keep it in a jar to eat at a later date.

Pet Shop Men.

Donald Fagen once took a golden shower on my belly and some of it ricocheted into my mouth. Yummy.

I was running late for my eldest daughter's parents evening a few years ago and didn't have time to change, so was wearing football shorts. As her geography teacher was talking some shit about how well she was doing, I felt a twinge in my stomach. I knew I was in trouble, but tried to stay composed. I'm sat there like "yeah, yeah, she knows all the capital cities of europe because of her years of child trafficking." We all laughed...but then, just as I was standing up to leave, my explosive diahorrea kicked in and launched a splurge of hearty brown liquid, splashing it all across a map of Africa. We all laughed. The Undertones were on in the car on the way home.

MY FACE! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ON MY FACE! ARGH FUCK! MY FACE! MY FACE! GET IT OFF MY FACE! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY FACE? MY BEAUTIFUL FACE! MAKE IT STOP! MY FACE! MY FACE! NOT MY FACE! MY HANDSOMELY STRUCTURED FACE IS FALLING APART. PLEASE, NO! NOT MY FACE! ANYTHING BUT MY FACE! NOT THE FACE. MY FACE! NOT THE FACE! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING? WHAT'S HAPPENING?! WHY? MY FUCKIN' FACE! MY FACE! THIS ISN'T FAIR. NOT THE FACE!

Have you ever been showering late at night with your grandmother and accidentally slipped over causing your face to press snugly against her vulva? This record felt like that wholesome family moment. Like a hugging embrace from an old friend...who's a massive racist.Like using a dildo for the first time, but it's a hand-me-down from your brother. Interesting, but perverse.

Did you know that it used to be Simon and Garfunkel and Spackman? Yes, I was part of a groundbreaking folkrock trio back in the late 50s/early 60s. What a ride it was. We sold out The Emirates Stadium and The Millennium Dome countless times, before the drugs kicked in for me. It was a very exciting, but ultimately dark time in my life. By night it was a hedonistic rainbow of women, money, LSD and hobnobs. By day it was a cold coffin of shame and self-loathing whilst trying to enjoy folk music. Eventually my wild ways got too much for the others and they had to cut all ties with me. As a duo, Simon and Garfunkel went on to have enormous success, and rightly so. But, I always thought I gave the trio the edge which would have sent us into superstardom. I'm not bitter though, I went on to have a successful career as the famous footballer and nail technician you know me as today.

Well, let's just say that my bloody valentine was a fuckin' whore who deserved everything she got. Tried to take the kids away from me. Of course she was getting a bloody nose.

Ooof made me minge tingle

Like thumbing marshmallows into the anus of a cat.

When I was a kid, one of my favourite heroes was Batman. There is something I found enticing about a very rich man doling out incredibly harsh punishment to people so poor that they have been forced into crime. Maybe he should use his funds to tackle some of the economic inequalities of Gotham City and call himself Social Housing and Investment in Education Man, but that would be a shit comic.

A mellow fellow. John Grant is the kind of guy who, if confronted with a brutal crime happening to someone in front of his eyes, would cower and run away instead of help them. A real pussy.

TLC stands for Tasty Lesbian Cunt.

Like a Dutch prostitute shitting down the back of my neck, as I smoke a cigar and read short stories about medieval torture. The best days of my life.

Ozzy Osbourne and I were roommates back when we played for the Aston Villa under 12s. I taught him how to bite the heads off bats and he taught me how to take successful panenka penalties. If you'd have asked us back then, we'd have both said that Ozzy would go on to have a fairly noteable football career and that I would become the prince of darkness. What a turnaround. I also used to regularly finger Sharon.

Ooooooh so, so smoooooth. I could feel my fingers sliding down my thighs, take the underpass and arrive with such desire in my dark soft tunnel. It's the record that made me fall in love with music...and also anal fingering.

Every night I feast in complete darkness. Once, I accidentally ate a Puerto Rican kid's ashes. His family were not happy.

This bunch of pricks assaulted my nan. Kicked seven shades out of her and left her for dead. Luckily she survived, sought revenge and tracked them all down one by one...and then gave them all hand jobs. Slag.

My loo read this week has been 'Jade: Fighting to the End' by Jade Goody. A terribly heartbreaking account of her winless battle with cancer. As erotic fiction goes, it was a right let down. Her earlier work of being naked and racist on Big Brother was much more stimulating. How am I supposed to keep an erection whilst reading about a dying woman? I'll tell you how - by simultaneously watching Fireman Sam whilst reading. Naughty Norman Price and dying Jade Goody. What a combo.

Mummy! Mummy! The cat pissed all over my hair again. Please help.

When I was 5 I set my baby brother on fire. He now looks like a melted welly. Not the most handsome of the Spackmen. That's me. As voted for on 8 separate occasions at Spackman family gatherings.

I moved to Japan in the summer of 1982, three years after the release of this. The Japanese had never heard of it, but had heard of me Nigel Spackman. Their entire culture since '82 is based on my suggestions. Especially the manga porn stuff. I love a bit of that. An octopus strangling a school girl? Yes please.

I fuckin' hate it. Garbage.

My favourite. Everything about Marilyn Manson fascinates me and turns me on.

Pussy bustin' fun. That's the real American dream. Just getting paid and getting laid.

One of the best bands of all time. Bono is a top geezer and The Edge wears a lovely little hat.

Your sister's got flaming lips after I gave her super gonorrhea. The fat slag.

FUCK!!!!!!

I lost my virginity to Van Morrison. To be clear, I don't mean whilst listening to Van Morrison, I mean he stuck his knob in my bum. 'Twas the summer of '71, me a shy farm hand on the verge of becoming a man, him an established musician using his power and influence to take advantage of a pre-pubescent stable boy. The memory still lingers like a dark, unwavering trauma. He needs to be stopped.

Pink Flag is what I used to refer to my grandmother's minge as. I turned a bit darker and even green as the years went by. Still a top shag though.

Fuck my mouth.

My usual bus driver Shaun tells me that his sister once went to a Divine Comedy gig and got so drunk that she climbed onto the stage and whipped her flange out. Neil Hannon started wanking. The crowd looked stunned at first, then all joined in.

Panthro was the best Thundercat in my opinion. Most people I speak to about this tend to disagree. I once sparked a mass brawl by quoting Panthro for a whole hour whilst at a Lion-O gig. Those Lion-O fans are such dickheads. Just using his goal and assist stats to say he's the best, whereas Panthro controls the possession and dictates the game. They need to actually sit down and watch the Thundrcats on the battlefield as opposed to just looking at XG.

Chef from South Park is such a smooth, sensual, caring lover. I often dress up as Shaft for children's parties. They love it. I love it.

My kinks include, but aren't limited to: Ass licking Amputees Getting my balls stamped on GILFS Gorillas Smearing my shit into the eyes of my sister Getting my feet tickled Wearing a jacket made of toast and leaping off a diving board onto an angry sea lion. BBW gangbangs Dave Davies' solo work

16 Lovers Lane is actually a crack den I used to frequent. Shit and blood up the walls and junkies everywhere. I was out of my mind for 2 years. Evil, evil stuff. Very few made it out alive.

I don't watch television anymore. I refuse to pay for the TV licence. I now only watch animals fucking on the dark Web. The BBC coverage of animals humping is a bit shit now. I like watching two animals just really going at it like the clappers. Proper walloping eachother in their holes. A big horse's dick crushing the pussy of a leopard. Marvellous.

Oh, oh, oh Marvin you have just brought me to climax. I've jizzed all over my mum's neck. Fetch me a glass of milk and a Snickers at once.

I'd have never paired Beauty from Beauty and the Beast with the crab from The Little Mermaid, but Disney have done it here and it has resulted in a fairly okay record. It hasn't blown my mind in the same way a collaboration between Scar and Princess Jasmine would have.

I sometimes eat mice.

I keep young boys as pets. Some in cages, some can wander freely in the yard. I have eleven pairs of pinking sheers and a nice smile. Today is my birthday. My best friend is named Martin Beresford. He has an older sister. I like baking cakes.

As of this day, Wednesday 30th June 2021, I Nigel Peter Dandelion Spackman, have only murdered 7 hookers. If you read anything different, it's libellous.

I could crywank all night to this behemoth. Blisters on me fingers and on me dick. So much blood and so many tears. Like a recently widowed hedgehog trying to escape from a blender. Welp.

I haven't had an erection like that since Michael Owen scored against Argentina in 1998.

Some of you may have already read my story about Peter Hook's impressive pissing stream leading to me killing a stripper on another New Order review. Well, I have one more thing to add to that - that stripper was my own daughter. MY OWN DAUGHTER!

I first met the Sledge sisters whilst backpacking around Papua New Guinea. Each evening one of them would approach me in private and scream "We Are Family" in my face for up to two hours. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have forced them to have that orgy in front of their grandparents, but what's a boy to do?

Hot diggedy dawg. Reminds me of a sex-fuelled heart attack I once had.

Cyndi Lauper, now that's a name I haven't heard since.... It was January 1985, I was visiting my parents at the lake. It's so beautiful there in the winter and it gives me the peace and quiet to work on my dancing. One morning, fresh from a hectic pirouette session, I was walking along the waterside when a young woman approached me looking, no staring, right in my direction. A playful smile across her lips and one breast hanging out, she tackled me to the ground and shoved her tongue to the back of my throat. We were swept into a whirlwind of love, sex and cheese and four magical days later, we married. Things were going well until one frightful day in late February. I returned home to find my lover naked in the kitchen on her knees, bent over with her hungry brown Sheriff's Badge pointing towards me. At first I thought it was a sexy treat for yours truly to devour, but to my horror, I turned to see my own father stood there, naked from the waist down, hanging out his foot. I gasped as one by one each of his toes climbed inside my wife's crusty anus, until the heel could no longer be seen and all that was left was shin. Her peachy bum had swallowed his whole foot and he was wearing her like a fleshy shoe. Needless to say, Cyndi and I parted ways not long after...although my father and I do often reminisce about the incident.

Reminded me of a poem I once read about Michael Schumacher riding an ostrich into the sun.

A packed lunch of shit sandwiches and jizz. A banana too for nutrition.

I can't get on board with management. Bunch of boring clean shirts in their ties and polished shoes. Probably get home and expect their tea to be on the table. A downtrodden wife, who's been slaving away all day and doesn't even get a "thanks". A cottage pie, a cheap bottle of plonk and five minutes of miserable missionary. Makes me sick.

Is it wrong that I masturbated for the entirety of this record?

I remember queuing outside my local record store in the pissing rain on the day this was released. Me and my mate Ortisse pooled our pocket money together and bought this album. We skipped all the way home, hand in hand and couldn't wait to play the damn thing. Full of fizzy cola, we couldn't hold back our grins as we danced around the room, playing air guitar. Ortisse later hanged himself in the bathroom.

My two year old son died in the same way Eric Clapton's son died. For inspiration.

I used to score a lot of weed and pussy simply by wearing a t shirt with Jeru on. He was my inspiration, my hero, my lover. He just had to run off with my grandmother, didn't he? He broke my heart. He broke all of our hearts.

TUG ON MY PUBES, RHONDA!!!

Oh Bobby, Bobby, Bobby boy!!! This makes my dick so hard that I could probably impregnate you through this screen. The Wailers are named after your mum.

Transports me back to my ex wife's kitchen. We'd drink till 5 in the morning and dance to The Pretenders. A ferocious row would often erupt about the size of her tits. In hindsight I probably shouldn't have 'forced' her to have the boob job and it began the miserable descent to divorce, but they were very little tits and I like a nice pair of big bouncy ones. I shouldn't have married her, but she was rich and her mother had huge cannons. I thought she would develop, but sadly not. The boob job has a success and we had two great years together, until one fateful day on a long haul flight from Mexico to Fiji they just popped...I mean, they blew right up in her face. I knew it was over. They'd never be the same again. We separated two weeks later. She still has visible scars, but it's my mental scars that really haunt me at night. What a journey it was, from tiny flatties, to enormous jugs, to a disgusting, mutilated warzone.

"Whatever" she says, like she doesn't have a care in the world. Like she's not bothered about my opinion. Well, Aimee, you should be bothered. Here it is: I absolutely adore this fabulous gift you have given the world, you beautiful, beautiful woman. Thank you. Only joking, it's shite.

On the eve of my 42nd Birthday party I shoved 18 beetles up my bum. After a rather uncomfortable night, I jumped out of my bed and ran downstairs. All of the family were waiting, along with a film crew and a number of acclaimed art critics. They all sang Happy Birthday to me and I blew out each of the 42 candles on the cake. I ripped down my pants and fired those beetles directly into the faces of the audience. They gasped. I was awarded the Turner Prize.

Woke up tied up in the back of a van this morning. I'd been beaten and battered and had another man's semen dripping down my face, but the worst thing was that this album was playing. Absolute torture.

This moist-eyed camera hogger again. He's recently started texting me again, trying to rekindle our relationship. I'll tell you now, I am not getting back into bed with this superficial, self-obsessed jizz-whistle. His breath stinks of cabbage too.

This was released around the same time my first born entered this miserable world. Joan and I would often refer to her as Kid A. How we would laugh. The Radiohead theme would continue, as when Hail to the Thief was released, that same child had recently been kidnapped, never to be seen alive again, which was a welcome relief, as she was a right little prick. How we laughed. Police investigations came to a head in 2011. Several dismembered body parts belonging to my daughter had been found in the local woods. Imagine our faces when we were told this news as Radiohead released King of Limbs. We could barely hold back our laughter.

Neil.

I was brought up on a diet of fear and whiskey. My old man used to beat me black and blue, then douse me in whiskey and set me alight. It was an exciting time to grow up and sculptured me into the well-rounded human I am today.

Well now, I expect you're all reading this waiting for some crude blonde on blonde story that has nothing to do with this album. So, here goes... I once met these two blonde, lesbian twins. They were so in love with their own image that they, as you've already guessed, started banging eachother. They would scissor so hard against eachother , that one day they caught fire and burnt to death. The end.

An expression of love through the act of stomping a puppy to death.

Alright, alright, fine! Just stuff me with vegetables and fuck me already. Fuckin' Morrissey just won't give up until he's got a parsnip up my ass and is greasing up his penis and waving it in my cabbage filled face.

Oh ho ho ho ho. Oi oi. Oh la la. Feel the sex running through your thighs.

Oh I'll take you apart Kelela.

Gorgeous. Just so, so gorgeous. Beautiful melodies. Flawless beats. Like making sweet, sweet love to a box fresh sex doll.

Reminds me that I need to buy more anti dandruff shampoo this weekend.

Rediscovering this is like finding a crusty old jizz tissue in the pocket of an old coat.

I was watching the grand prix and eating Rolos, when the phone went. I pick it up and it's a wrong number and they hung up on me. So, I phoned them back and screamed "SANTANA!" down the phone at them. I have no idea what they did with that information.

'A coked up mountain hare hopping over a disgruntled badger' is the best way to describe this glam rock masterpiece. The year was 1974 and hares were doing loads of drugs and running wild. The hare revolution was on the cusp of global domination and this album smacked the world in the chops and said "hey, here come the fuckin' hares, man. You fuckin' watch yourself, boy." Hares were all but extinct within 8 months.

You know that saying 'you don't know your arse from your elbow'? Well, it's pretty apt here, because this is shit.

This album has had my dick hanging out the back of it since day one. It still gets me hard, unlike your mum.

This album came out whilst I was transitioning from a top class English footballer to a run of the mill rent boy. It reminds me of those hedonistic afternoons spent plodding round the football pitch, still kidding myself that I could compete with the likes of Jamie Redknapp and Peter Ndlovu, then doing my make up and preparingmy bum for a poudning. Yes, the only place I could really compete with the likes of Redknapp was in the homes of eccentric millionaires, when we'd go round and suck their balls for pocket money. I wish I had the money the players earn now, but sadly for me it was 90 minutes of pain followed by a further 90 minutes of pain as I got bummed within an inch of my life by a grotesque, fat rich man. Of course Redknapp left that life behind, married a popstar and made obvious observations about Dele Alli on TV. I was not as fortunate. Oh to be young again.

She bust her pussy trying to belt out some of these songs. Fair play to her, I bet she's still bleeding. I know I am.

Oh suicidal virgins, my favourites. I once groomed this teenager online and when I finally persuaded them to meet me, they saw I was a washed up former footballer and ran away. They later shot themselves on Facebook live. What a thrill.

It sounded a bit like when you don't wipe properly and you get shit matted in your ass hair. Then later you painfully have to rip it out and it makes your eyes water.

Wow. What to say. I was going through some really bleak times in 1982. Both my older sisters had killed themselves in a suicide pact. I sought solace in the music of Dexys Midnight Runners and boy did it change my outlook on everything. 40 years on and I still have a bittersweet feeling stuck in my throat about it. To this day you can find me both dancing and crying to Come On Eileen. It did ruin my cousin's wedding, but she's a complete slut.

Inject some heroin right in my balls! This was back-breakingly painful to get through. There is just something so insincere about the whole thing. Just like when your mother told her that she loved you, but really she attempted to abort you sixteen times, you resilient bastard.

I once met Tom Petty (without The Heartbreakers) in a greasey spoon just off Camden highstreet. He was tucking into a full English and unbeknown to him got a bit of egg was stuck on his face for about 35 mins. I smugly waited until I had finished my mug of coffee, stood up and announced to everyone in earshot that Tom Petty was an egg-faced sausage-lover and ran out. I watched from the window as he wiped the egg from his embarrassed red face and as he did I banged on the window and let out a fart so thunderous that the single glazed window shuddered. He looked on in horror. What a fuckin' loser Tom Petty was that day.

'The Birth of Cool' reminds me of when I spent my forties as an adult baby. We would meet up in groups of 12-15 and our mums would feed us milk, hug us and change our nappies. I would often piss and shit myself for real, which was a source of such joy for both me and the mums. I was thrown out in disgrace after an incident. I suggested, or more tried to force myself up one of the mums, so I could be reborn. Please understand that this was not sexual, I was merely trying to understand how it would feel to be born, to experience the journey from the womb, through the vagina and into the world, all with the awareness of an adult. Needless to say, the police were called in, the adult baby centre was shut down and I served 18 months in prison.

Oh go fuck a goat in the ear. I've just about torn my cock off on this one. I was the first trans character on Sesame Street. The Avalanches said I couldn't do it, but guess what? I did it. I did it.

Keith Moon and I were childhood friends. One afternoon, when we must have been about 13-14 we skipped school and Keith cooked my dog on a barbecue. It was delicious.

The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter. What the shittin' fuck is that? She is such an ugly little, fat cunt. I'd have a right good go on her tits though. Fuckin' sign me right up for that, just not for this dogshit music.

I spent the first 3 hours of today pissing a skid mark off the toilet bowl and listening to this on loop. It was one of the best mornings I've ever had in my miserable life. For once the everyday ennui was penetrated, just like your mum was on her 13th Birthday. Now I will suck on the bones of a duck carcass that I have been saving for such a gleeful moment. Forgive me father!

Funk just does something to me that no other genre can do. 15 seconds in and my erection was bursting out of my shorts. 2 minutes in and I was wanking at such a rate that I thought I was going to catch fire. By the end of the album I was broken, crying with happiness, exhausted, delirious and totally overwhelmed. 5 stars and a raging boner for this one. Amen brother!

I once grew the nail on my big toe so long that when I eventually clipped it, instead of using a key like everyone else, I would use the toe nail as a cocaine shovel. Yes, endless nights were spent shovelling charlie up my schnozz and listening to Otis Redding. Everyone in London knew me. I was a somebody, the toe nail king of the West End. I've left all that behind me now though and can't even look at a bare foot without wincing.

I was up late last night watching a documentary about why birds fly in a V formation and it occurred to me that I've hated 10cc for most of my adult life. In contrast to the birds trying to conserve energy, I was wasting mine with unfathomable hatred of this band. I kicked a cat to death after I heard them on the radio, I pushed a little girl off a swing after I heard her humming...I raped a elderly cancer patient I an unrelated incident. I need to conserve energy now and end the hate. Having said that, I just listened to this album today and have strangled a toddler to the point they turned blue.

I would love to suck on the vinegar tits of Mick Jagger. All that leathery goodness. Ooooh mama. Pour a bottle of Head and Shoulders shampoo on my thighs and slap me silly. Yee haw!

I took a lot of drugs before listening to this. I was whisked off to a magical land, where a talking frog convinced a boy to kill his father. Then a grumpy emo chick started pestering me, trying to get me to choose between fuckin' a zebra or fuckin' a corpse. I chose zebra. Then an abused orphan watched me peel a verucca sock off a disabled ghost. Then a noseless man raped a singing omelette. What's it all about?

The last time I heard this I was on the run from the police. I had butchered a close knit group of teenage girls in Nebraska, after I heard them laughing about the shape of my calves. This record acted like a soundtrack as I fled the country and started a new life as a children's entertainer in Tijuana.

Like a couple of retards trying to fuck a doorknob.

I genuinely feel like my car goes faster and better when I have filled it up with petrol, and that’s how I felt when I got my hair cut this week: I was immediately more confident, I had a swagger in my step and I was ready to go back out into the world with my levels of sexiness restored to their usual intensity. All of that vigour and excitement had evaporated by the time Madonna had finishing squealing on Express Yourself. The rest of the album was an absolute chore too, like wading through a dogshit-filled Toffee Crisp. I could feel my hair physically growing back and my sexual prowess diminishing with every note. Thanks Madonna, you've reduced me to a ball of shame and split ends. My car has also broken down.

Where to start with this? Dolly is my dream girl. I'd listen to her telling me that I'm a piece of shit all year and still adore her. She has very neat pubic hair. Very neat.

Have you ever rubbed chilli under your foreskin and then nailed a deaf girl? It's total bedlam. We sounded like a broken accordion being squeezed by a cartoon donkey on crystal meth. Similar to this album.

The Gun Club's newest inductee Alec Baldwin joined us for our daily shooting this morning. The stats were: Animals killed 89 People killed 13 Not bad for a Sunday morning's shooting, but we must improve tomorrow.

Snow is cold, rain is wet and my dick is rock solid. One of my favourite things to do when it snows is to go outside and pretend it's the first time I've ever seen it, just to see how people react. They usually don't care, so I just shrug, tackle them to the ground and sometimes molest them. Then every time it snows after that, they too pretend to themselves it's the first time they've seen it, to try and block out the molestation from their psyche.

Once such a daring and courageous beast, this effort seems rather lazy and insipid. Just throwing some EDM into the mix, because, well why not? Madonna reminds me of a wounded sealion gasping for air as it watches its pups be fucked to death by the predatory ghost of Sir David Attenborough.

I have been known to be wildly inconsistent with my reactions to expensive items. I will happily overpay for a pair of jeans, and later that same day bemoan the state of the world when an ice-cream costs a fiver, despite both items having a similar manufacturing cost. My biggest blind spot in terms of this is with prostitutes. In Amsterdam I will greedily piss away thousands on the women in the windows, but when I'm in Barnsley, I wouldn't pay a tenner for a handjob. Even though it all leads to the same result. What I'm trying to say is, Run DMC are really good value for money. I think.

I find myself wanking about Fred Neil most afternoons. His voice just lights up my world and I can't help myself. I've wanked on a school bus, I've wanked in a library, a courtroom, a bouncy castle, a phone box, on a ferris wheel, in Nando's, in a primary school, in my gran's bathtub, in a tree, during a hurricane, in a desert, on a jet ski and during a jewellery heist.

Fuck yeah. I'm so excited to hear this that I might shoot myself in the face. I'm having a midlife crisis. I've recently bought a pair of leather trousers, dyed my hair blonde and now drive a ferrari. I fuck midgets in a warehouse at the weekend and keep one in the shed as a slave. Nirvana reminds me of a time when I didn't do any of those things and I miss those times. Help me.

I fuckin' hate Dizzee. This is not music, it's a festering hive of scum and villainy, like your mum's flaming cunt.

The fun I had listening to this when I was younger. I was like a young Theresa May in a field of wheat. Getting fucked by 6 farmers.

As I listen to this I sit and wonder. I wonder, should I let that Filipino child that I stole from the hospital out of her cage? You almost had me there for a minute, Echo. I almost let her out. She stays. The Bunnymen can come visit whenever they want. She'll be here. Caged. Ready.

Long before the days of dating apps and posting your tits on the internet, I once placed a lonely hearts advert in the local paper. It read: Big dick gangsta motherfucker seeks shy, retiring, well-educated wallflower to perform unspeakable, inhumane sexual acts with in public. GSOH preferable. I got over 4,000 replies. I fucked them all.

U2 are a steaming pile of shit. The Joshua Tree hates the fact they named this album after it. Anyone named Joshua is hugely ashamed of any connections to this. All trees are thoroughly embarrassed too.

YEAH! TURN IT UP FUCKIN' LOUD! I murdered a toddler listening to this.

Herbie Hancock, Matt's more accessible, more likeable, older brother. He paints a glowing rainbow of joy upon the faces of everyone who meets him. Everyone apart from me. Colour my life with the chaos of trouble, I just can't stand the man! His music SUCKS! He's a greasy weasel, a gym instructor, a nuclear rocket, a baseball bat, a fat controller, a modest mouse, a toilet brush, the misadventures of Romesh Ranganation, a stain upon a front tooth, a garden gnome, a rainy afternoon, a cunt.

Fire is obviously the best. Wind is a right dickhead.

In what turned out to be an enormous error, I had a big, big wank on the morning of an IVF appointment, where I had to go into a little room and provide a sample. So, by the time the moment arrived, no matter how hard I went at it, I couldn't get anything out. In the end I just got some flour and milk and mixed it together with some spit and legged it out of there. My wife was not happy.

It just reminded me of the forbidden love between a special needs man and his mother in law, which forces them to go on the run together ultimately in their car plummeting into a reservoir. Will they survive? No.

I had a dream about smothering by bollocks in gold and presenting them to the Queen on her long overdue deathbed. She thanked me and licked them before passing away with a smile on her face.

I'd shag Paul Simon. I'd make my entire family watch too.

He ate my trousers

If constipation makes your day feel offbeat, try listening to this record. The groove will make you sway and loosen that poo right up. Before you know it you'll have an empty bowel and full bowl of glorious, Instagramable poo. Poo.

I was a former child prodigy. Unfortunately, after getting mercilessly fucked by my scout master when I was 9, I lost any kind of interest in anything. Cruel world.

We used to know him as Frank Sea before he hit the big time. Yep, young Frank got a bit too big for his boots and forgot about us, the little guys, his roots. I don't begrudge him his success though. The kid has a real talent.

My first thoughts whilst listening to this record were that it's very easy to forget it's playing. Like when you're just sat at home on a Tuesday evening and you pop a bit of hardcore porn on, just for company. Isn't it sweet that Bang Bros is a family run company?

Amy Winehouse once sucked me off through a glory hole in a pub in Clapham. She slurped that jizz right up. Swallowed me whole. I felt so small in that massive hole. I think the incident inspired the album Back to Black.

Plays constantly in my mind like a cocaine fuelled orgy with my parents and their good friends Jeff and Margaret. They sometimes dress up as farm yard animals. Jeff has enormous testicle. Margaret has a bucket cunt. It all makes for a rather good time.

This record is as overdressed as a bacon sandwich on a surfboard.

Miles Davis scrambles around like an uncircumcised elephant trying to skull fuck the charred remains of Madeline McCann.

Not exactly a helter-skelter fuck party like I'm used to attending, more a wholesome children's birthday spoilt by an uncle who's shooting heroin on the picnic blanket. NODDY'S OFF HIS FACE ON KETAMINE! NODDY'S OFF HIS FACE ON KETAMINE!

A right old dripping fanny of a record. She's a squirter. SHE'S A SQUIRTER, MAVIS! FETCH THE LAWNMOWER, I'M COMING IN!

Get my dick in a baguette and eat it, this is superb.

This was a waste of my time and money. FEEL MY WRATH, MILTON -YOU CUNT.

As I sit here eating a novelty size neopolitan ice cream that's dripping through my fingers and onto my lap, I can't help but feel emotionally compelled to put my fist through my daughter's face.

I've been secretly banging everyone in the B-52's behind their backs. I plan on revealing this information at the Christmas party and watching the fireworks go off. They all love me, the freaks.

Pussy juice exploding right in my eyes. It stings a little, but feels wonderful. I mix it with acid and throw it at innocent bystanders in the street. Fuck them.

I used to collect all the birds from the yard after my milkshake brought them there. They would squawk in my ear all night as I plucked their feathers. Rough, rough stuff.

Having a lust for life is far more socially acceptable than having a lost for your own sister, like I do.

We had this record on at our Christmas party in Downing Street last year. It made none of us pause for reflection as we snorted coke off eachother's erect cocks. Top night.

I once fucked a pixie in the nostril. It died instantly.

My mate Paul once sold me his mum's used dildo for a fiver. It certainly gave me rapid eye movement.

The soundtrack for an unofficial gang bang that escalated into a mass suicide.

The misadventures of a scout leader and a group of cubs that is strictly off the record. Nothing happened here. They simply went camping.

I wandered lonely as a cleft lip baby at a Pretty Little Miss USA competition. "Isn't she brave?", "She's a loser, Janet. An ugly little loser who's ruining the competition for everyone."

HAVE YOU EVER FUCKED A PENGUIN IN THE ASS? HAVE YOU FUCK! HAVE YOU EVER FUCKED A PENGUIN IN THE ASS? HAVE YOU FUCK! HAVE YOU EVER FUCKED A PENGUIN, EVER FUCKED A PENGUIN, EVER FUCKED A PENGUIN IN THE ASS? HAVE YOU FUCK!

That sweet, sweet voice. Those beautiful looping foot pedals. The sunglasses, the hat, the edge. What's not to completely loathe? A fucking disgusting waste of time and money. A horrorshow, a prison cell, a bargain bin of aborted babies.

A cyclops on cocaine tugging himself off to the memory of the surrogate mother of his first born.

Suck my beautiful cock.

I fucked a 73 year old great grandfather for Christmas. That's a true white Christmas. Steely Dan was the name I used to go by when I was starring in low budget porn in the 90s. I gave gonorrhoea to so many people. So many.

Baby in the hot tub, baby in the hot tub la la la la, la la la la.

The wildest gift I ever received was for my 13th birthday. My siblings had all clubbed together to get me the severed penis of our old scout master. I loved it. I would play with it all the time. Every night before bed I would kiss it goodnight and then fuck the shit out of myself until my anus resembled a bloody casserole.

When I first came across sonic the hedgehog, all the jizz just got stuck in his spikes. He wasn't the easiest to clean. Made him faster though.

A handbag full of mince meat and peas resting on the lap of an older woman with a stiff upper lip. She's on the way back from the abortion clinic where she's been campaigning for free abortions for white males aged 8-13. She has had a successful day's work.

Comfortably the best attempt at music I've heard this hour. It felt like how giving an Eskimo kiss to a baboon's anus after a curry feels.

A fizzing firework that has been let off in the face of a child, scarring them for life. They now live a sheltered, quiet life, afraid of making new friends. They will never find love.

I remember when I first auditioned for Jurassic 5. They asked me if I could perform a backflip through a ring of fire, whilst sucking everyone off. I did it. They then chemically castrated me in front of a live studio audience.

What's the opposite of defecating in a zorb and then having it hit you in the face over and over as you run down a hill?

Ooooooh she's a fine one. Joni could really do with a hot beef injection from her uncle Nigel stat.

This record is the result of an ill-advised experiment between four men and their insatiable lust for having sex with burritos. It burnt each of their dicks off, Peter. For Christ's sake, their handsome penises are ruined. In tatters. They can still fly though. But what use is flying if your burnt, limp cock is hanging on by a thread?

In the evenings after I've eaten a plate of meat the size of a chubby baby, I like to put my suede y-fronts on, open my front door and lunge at any passers by. I am yet to be arrested.

Many years ago I was scuba diving off the coast of Luxembourg. A young Japanese girl by the name of Stacey approached me and broke down in tears. Her father, a former book salesman had recently passed and she wanted to keep his memory alive by riding my penis underwater, I'm not sure how the two events were linked. Anyway, six hours passed and she swam away gleefully. I never saw her again.

These cunts sound like they need to have a bath with an out of work clown. That'll show them real misery. Maybe then they can write some better songs. Clown for hire. £20 an hour. Call 07904881209. Tell your friends.

The upsetting thing about listening to this in 2022, is that I'm currently scooping human shit out of a plughole whilst it plays. Whilst normally I enjoy the chore, (why else would I shit there?), today it just fills me with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. It's the most mournful shit scooping I've done this year. I do look back in anger. I look back at all the shits I've done before. I mentally rank them in order of shade and size and I sigh. I long for 1995 when I spent my time shaving hairy children's back for cigarette money. Oasis were constantly playing and the world was largely more pleasant. WHERE HAVE YOU PUT MY COMB, DEIRDRE, YOU DUMB BITCH?

I was 9 years old when I attended my first circle jerk. It was a lowly lit room at the Chelsea training ground. I was dressed in a tutu and had my hair in plaits, as was the fashion at the time. My brother shoved me to the middle of the room and then the lights flicked on. I was surrounded by the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff. They all tugged away at themselves, making strong eye contact with me throughout. I got so swept up by the attention that I didn't realise I was wanking myself. My first time. It was such a turn on. Glenn Hoddle came on my back. Later, we all went out for milkshakes. Somebody bumped into me and I spilt mine all down my front. It was hard to tell what was milkshake and what was jizz. I was completely drenched in both.

My second ever circle jerk was just before my 10th birthday. Again it was with the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff. This time we went to the woods. The coach journey was wild and bristling with anticipation. Some couldn't wait and simply had a wank on the coach, much to everyone's enjoyment. The rest of us knew it'd be worth the wait and held on. I was wearing a mini skirt and feather boa and had my hair in a ponytail, as was the fashion at the time. I couldn't wait. It was over in minutes. Such was the attraction between us all as a group, we all shot our loads in no time. A glorious, triumphant climax fom the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff all over my face and chest. Glenn Hoddle came on my back. Later, we went out for lemonade and I managed to spill some on myself. I couldn't tell what was lemonade and what was the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff's jizz. I was soaked right through.

To me melancholy and infinite sadness are the times when I'm not getting completely and utterly drenched in the jizz of the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff. It's been a tough 3 weeks now without being covered head to toe in the jizz of the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff and I'm gasping for it. I can barely picture Glenn Hoddle cumming on my back. I need it right now!

I once wore a pretzel as a cock ring to a circle jerk. In was a Oktoberfest at the Chelsea training ground. I was dressed in lederhosen and added the pretzel for extra detail, as was the fashion at the time. The circle jerk was a little more German than usual. The entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff all shouted "JA!" as they squirted their loads all over me. Glenn Hoddle came on my back. Later, we all went out for steins. I somehow spilt one all down my lederhosen and it became hard to tell what was bier and what was the jizz of the entire Chelsea first team and backroom staff. I was dripping wet.

When I think of Solange, I can only think of that time I fisted Beyonce in the ass for half an hour. She exploded.

Talking about head. Do you know how long it's been since I last had a blowjob? 34 days. Totally unacceptable. If you know of anyone who wants to sort me out, give me a call on 07797098556

This reminded me of the first time I snapped my banjo string. I enjoyed the pain.

I like biting little tits. They break off in my mouth easily and are very crunchy. This record reminds me on biting little tits.

An unattractive car crash. A plate of mince meat covered in parsley being pecked at by a murder of ill-looking crows. A drousy zebra stumbling into a pit of broken coat hangers. A minor Star Wars character whom Disney have fleshed out and ruined. A pint of beer with a camel's dick in it. A lazy weekend interrupted by a trip to hospital to visit your dying daughter.

The most important thing to consider whilst I listen to this, is whether it makes me want to eat a raw chicken carcass or not. I have to tell you, it not only makes me want to eat a raw chicken carcass, but it makes me want to eat a raw chicken carcass whilst smothering myself in bbq sauce and squealing like a pig. There isn't any higher praise.