Cross Walk of Oblivion.

So we stopped doing the radio show and from the airwaves we disappeared.

My all too trusting voice went from beaming through a 300000 brains on two different frequencies to gracing only the increasingly uncomfortable denizens of my living room.

to tell you the truth, I haven't left the house in months.

Every week I fold all my dirty laundry into tight little packages and post them through my down stairs neighbours front door. I have started a compost heap in the corner of my kitchen. I called the phone company and told them to go fuck themselves but ended up getting a 12 month extension on my broadband package.

In many ways I have have all that I need. though I am starting to run out of clothes.

Luckily I have enough money to buy all the food I can eat from reputable on-line retailer 'HIPPO' 
They are a Yugoslavian delivery only store, that brands it's self as a kind of down market version of Aldi.
Among other things, they sell consumer products looted from Sub-Saharan Africa by tribes of armed horsemen.

as a result I'm eating a lot of Teff. It's organic and given that it's stolen at gun point it's a lot cheaper than the fair trade stuff. But seriously the gradualy wearing down of my rear molars is definitely preferable to the almost certain destruction that would come to me if I were to step outside my front door and venture onto the streets of Stokes Croft.

It's not that I am afraid. I have given up being afraid. It's more that I am frightened. Frightened of what I know. More frightened of what I don't know. The terrible secret that lurks behind every 32 year old man-child whose clothes probably looked good on them in 2003. They walk together in perfect unison as if not entirely human.

I watch them from my window.  They watch me back. We have reached an impasse but I am still searching for a compromise.

Last night I put up a little sign that simply read... "I just didn't have time to do the damn show every damn week"

They wrote one back that simply said.
"but you told us you loved us..."

I wept. because I still do. But I also want to play X-Com and have straight-sex with my wife (though not always both at the same time).

I wept for the lost son that was the City of Bristol and in particular that weird little bit of it between the killing fields of Redland, the poppy fields of Montpelier and the Academic Fields of Sociological Discourse, Experimentation and study that is St Paul's.

I wept for the Croft. a bar now closed that symbolised the garage band dream of Bristol, The dizziy heights of that beer soaked back room floor where one person danced to all the songs but most people just wiggled a bit during the last one.

Where will Big Jeff dance now? (Old Market, maybe?)

The answer is Everywhere.  Everywhere he can among the faceless nameless troops of the Half-Discovered Self Awareness Army. Soldiers uniformed in filthy Khaki, old enough to have cemented an identity but prevented from completing the job by cannabis narcosis and an invasive multi-media advertising campaign orchestrated by a cadre of clean cut graphic-design débutantes, hell bent on making the world feel ill at ease. Thinking globaly, acting selfishly... These are the true social elite.

Five years from now one of them will run for mayor. She will become the mayor of 26hr a day Party Town. they will worship her...  The party Mayor. Princess of the Croft. She will dress like Adam Ant crossed with a lime green glitter bomb. She will bring us Eurovision. She will drink champagne, and not even notice the salty taste of sweat and tears encrusted on the rim of the glass. On the eve of her victory...claiming it to be a meeting of minds... she will not think twice of falling into bed with her campaign manager.

And when we are done, after the incomprehensible small talk is over, the votes will be counted and she will have won, and she will carry me through the city, and I will finally be protected for She will pull-in her arms and bare her teeth! and  from her shining back, sword in hand, I will shout down to the adoring public... look look, you can't touch me now boy's I'm riding a fucking T Rex!

Until then I'm not going outside.

The point is. We'll be back soon with a new show. 
in case you haven't guessed already, it's going to be about computer games.

"Does a horse have Buddha Nature? Neigh! screams Sugar-lump..."

"Does a horse have Buddha Nature? Neigh! screams Sugar-lump..."



Those brave enough to Press Play


Will be rewarded with a uniquely personal and fulfilling experience. (akin to the feeling people get at the highpoint of a televisual "journey")

I want you to picture us as cadre of part-time unqualified sex-therapists. A wandering collective of enthusiast-gynecologists, amateur in the truest and most complete sense of the word, We don't do this for money. We do this for love. We invite you to join us... To become one of the team.

I want you imagine this as possibility. Entertain the idea.
Picture yourself in a white coat shaking hands with several other pseudo-medicinal hobbyists. Sharing our values.
Live there for a moment.

Now I want you to realize that this trip into your imagination has been a little bit to vivid. You we're more than just picturing it. You were experiencing it. you are almost able to feel the skin on latex glove contact of the handshakes. See the softly sinister grins. A reflection of yourself in a pair of NHS standard glasses. Could you be in dream right now? "I hope to god I'm not driving" you think to yourself. your limbs feeling heavy and slow.

"Am I driving?"

Then your attention shifts. You feel nervous. Off Balance. "Why would somebody want to convince me that I'm dreaming?" you think. "What's in it for them?" The it starts to feel like A bad dream. but you stick with it.
All that is bad has the potential to turn good. You are sure about this. It's why you keep listening to that god awful radio show on BCFM.

You are late for work now. Maybe you should try and wake up? You see a chestnut stallion standing alone and confused on a deserted welsh back-road. A streetlight casting yellow light down an avenue of trees. ARAF painted in bold white letters on the floor. You are intrigued... But you're also late for work and no matter how much you beep your horn the damn thing just won't budge. And he looks at at you with those big horse eyelashes and bulging thighs and says.... "Hey baby, got room for one more?"

this, you think... could be the beginning of something beautiful or it could be very painful. Deep inside... their is a stirring. You know that it is right. He is the equine lover you have always dreamed of. That mane. those fetlocks. The way he moves. His hair in the wind. He looks like he's on fire.

You make the decision to say YES!

Then there is a montage. It's you and horse together arm in arm on meadows and sun set beaches... On holiday in New York. Summer in the Hamptons. Weekends on the sofa watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote. He always knows who did it. 'You're so clever' you swoon... These are the salad days.

Its an unconventional wedding with a centaur for a priest. it's an image of an ultra scan in a hospital with twin seahorses making a heart shape in your belly. His Hoof in your hand. You can feel them kicking. 'Chomping at the bit' says the doctor, your lover considers this remark to be culturally offensive but doesn't say anything at the time. he knows this day is important to you and doesn't want to make a scene.

In the coming months the faux pas is forgotten, lost in the lilac fog of your shared Joy.

"It's a Horse!" shouts the doctor. The stallion has never looked so proud. You turn to his chiseled flanks and swoon again. Deeper than you ever thought possible. "I love you sugar-lump... but what the hell is that noise..."

"It's another Horse!" shouts the doctor excitedly

"Neigh!" Screams Sugarlump!

"What? what is it! whats wrong!"

There it is that beeping sound a truck reversing on your happiness. "is something wrong?"

"Neigh! Neigh!"
"Nurse" Screams the doctor. His voice filled with panic.

The beeps, gets faster and faster, crashing into each other to become one solid tone. .  .
All noise is drowned out by the sound of death on a heart rate monitor.

"My Horse Babies! My beautiful, beautiful Horse Babies!

You open your eyes and stare at your bedroom ceiling. you feel your stomach... empty, filled only with ennui.
To your left. On his side of the bed. Your real human partner looks at you like you're crazy.

"Did I just say that out loud?" you say,

And that's when you know:
The biological clock... is ticking.

The Protest Singer Rides a Lonely Donkey Through the streets of New Orleans.

These are the new rules of the game.

If you want to Listen to the ETP you need to contact me for an invite. If you know someone who you think would get a kick out it let me know and I will send them an invitation to the Exciting and Erotic world of Bristols Seedy Underbelly.


We tried. We really tried to go legit with this but the legit world just didn't work out. It turns out we are better off as Pirates.


Here is the podcast for the last two weeks that are not available on the legit website for some reason.

Press  PLAY
For an exclusive live, as yet un-broadcast studio session with The Lasting Days, They will be sending us lots of links ect.

and then
Press PLAY
For a quite frankly mediocre episode where me and Matt explore the ins and outs of our flagging physical relationship, while Producer Lyndsey watches and takes notes.

As always right clicks can cause downloads to happen.

45,46,47,48,49,50: The begining of the end of the begnining.

Dear Toast Fancier,

I know I don't always treat you right I know that sometimes I disappear for weeks on end and then come back smelling of booze and other women. And while I may have stolen your car, blown your child support money on crystal-meth and slept with your little brother, I still believe that with a little sacrifice on both sides, we can make it work.

All I am asking for is a chance to make it all up to you. I'm not promising that I can change. But I will at least pay lip service to the idea of change.

At the bottom of this letter you will find links to no less than six back episodes. I hope that after listening to these, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Yours Sincerly,

The Erotic Toast Monster

PS. Your brother says hello.

45: PLAY


46: PLAY


47: PLAY


48: PLAY


49: PLAY


50: PLAY

44: The Hangover Burrito

 When the worst happens, this healthy and easily achievable recipe will save your life.


Ingredients,
A Shitload of Beef, Chicken or Lamb
  One Tin of Baked Beans
 One Tin of Kidney Beans
 Buritto Seasoning (available in little yellow packets from your local super market or drug dealer)
An Onion
A Pepper
 Some Burrito Wraps
  Some Letuce/a Bag of  Salad.
 Some Cheese
     A Tomato
Salsa (The sauce not the dance)
 A Jar of sliced Jalepinos
And no eggs.

The trick is to make the Burritos the night before. Do not eat them all. Leave one for the morning. Then drink a crap load of Tequilla and go record a radio show.



INSTRUCTIONS/TRACK LISTINGS
Start by pressing
Play
and then begin defrosting your meat in the microwave.

'Rome' by Phoenix
Place the tin of baked beans and the tin of kidney beans into a blender. Add some of the Burrito Spices. press blend.

'A Small Victory' by Faith No More
Slice the onion and the pepper, place them in a frying pan. Stop and look at them for a moment. Arn't they oddly beautifull. The colours all mixing together. Realise that sometimes even the real world can feel like a dream. Press stop on the blender.


'Oh No' by Andrew Bird
Turn up the heat, but not too high.  Add your now defrosted meat to the mixture of onion and pepper. Add some more Burrito Mix. Stir that shit around until it's pretty well coated with Burritto powder. Then lean in close and whisper a short apology. Explain to it that everything has to eat and that this is the natural order of things. Stick a lid on it. Wipe away a silent tear.


'Fresh Attitude Young Body' by Bomb the Music Industry
It's time to turn your attention to the lettuce and stuff, if it's just a lettuce then wash it, chop it and put it in a bowl. If you bought a bag of salad then just tip it into a bowl. Now it's time to chop up your tomato and put the distended chunks into their own separate bowl. Grate the cheese. This too gets it's own bowl.

'I Like You So Much Better When Your Naked' By Ida Maria
Place the mush of beans that is currently sitting in your blender into yet another bowl. Check that it's microwave proof. Engage the magnetron! Blast the beans for two minutes on full power. Watch them rotate. See them go around and around. Remember that the Microwave was originally called the Deathray and that they wanted to use it to fry fighter pilots in their seats. Giggle a bit when you remember that they used to call the internet 'the information super-highway'. Wonder at the parrot-like nature of the human brain.

'Flight of the Navigator' by Set Your Goals
Take the lid off of that crap in your frying-pan and stir it around a little bit. Take the beans out of the microwave. Stir them around then give them another minute. Look at all the stuff you have on your clean counter-top. All the separate bowls. The yellow of the cheese, the red of the tomato, the green of the salad. Realise what is missing. Set up another bowl and but the deeper blood-red mixture of the salsa in in it. Feel proud. Stir the frying pan again.

'Little Bit' By Lykke Li
Get the wraps out of the plastic wrapper and put them on a plate. Remove the beans from the microwave and put the wraps in their place. Blast um' Captain, for one lonely minute.


'Red Letter Day' by The Get Up Kids
It's time to assemble those badboys! Get your nice warm wrap and smear some refried/microwave beans, all over it, add a bed of meat, some lettuce, cheese, salsa, tomato and a few jalapeño bits. Fold over the bottom then roll it up and tuck it into its self. For extra style point pin the bugger down with a cocktail stick. Remember to make an extra one for the morning. Go to your front room, Sit down infront of the TV, perhaps an old episode of Friends is on. Take a bite.

Remember that you completely forgot about Sour Cream. Wonder why the hell bad things happen to good people.

43: The Quantum Conundrum

I remember the first time I saw the snow. It was 1989 and I was nine years old. My parents had left me alone in the house because they wanted to go to swingers party and figured I'd just get in the way.
I got bored of the television around 2am and wandered outside into the street. Despite the sound of distant sirens, I remember being filled up by a sense of calm. In the pale glow of the street-light even the concrete seemed soft. Blanketed in sheets of white, the perennial piles of rotting garbage looking somehow clean, perhaps even... forgiven.
For just one night. My hellish life in the city lost its cynical edge. 

By morning the snow had turned to a rancid brown sludge and a few doors down there was a gap with a cherry red smear around the edges. It turned out that, that was where a gang of kids had beat a hobo half to death. They probably would have killed him if my parents hadn't interrupted them.

I learned that night that nothing gets corrupted faster or more thoroughly than virgin snow on the blood red streets of the city. Not even you.

In order to listen to this weeks thrilling episode of the ETP, press...

PLAY


Track Listings

'Denise' by Fountains of Wayne
Some people might describe an unpaid weekly podcast/blog combo as little more than a pointless vanity project. Looking at my/our listening figures it is difficult for me/us to argue against them. In my/our defence I would like to point out that if I/we can make just one person think that I/we am/are cooler than I/we really am/are, then I think that I/we can chalk that one down as a win for vanity. The truth is that by getting my/our shit together and turning up on a semi-weekly basis I/we have proved that I/we am/are better than you pigs.


'Tommy C' by Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip
I'm/We're really sorry I/we just called you all pigs. You are not pigs. A lot of you are sexy/independent women. Some of you are hairless and capable men. By making the choice to both tune in and download the programme, you have transcended the porcine aspects of your character and joined the ranks of the enlightened. Come, join hands with me/us and let us all ride together on this new and exciting plane of existence. Together/alone, brethren,  I/we shall complain loudly about how Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip, although highly capable, will never quite match the potential they displayed in that 'Thou shalt always kill' video on Youtube.


'Oh My God' By Ida Maria
What the hell is it that you people want from me/us? Why don't you go and record your own stupid show and leave me/us alone? Sometimes I/we think about buying a gun and moving to the middle of a national park. I/we want to go a live the life of a bear. I/we want to stride through the open countryside with my/our cubs in tow. I/we want nothing more than enough protein to get through the harsh Yellowstone winter.  I/we want to have my/our image captured by a photographer from National Geographic as I/we stand proud and naked upon a prominence above a crystal blue lake.

See below for detail

'Rock for Sustainable Capitalism' Propagandhi
I/we guess our/my desire to be photographed, reveals the fact that I/we really do need the love and adulation of my/our fellow man/lady. I/we would be lost without the proximity and praise of you the warm-bodied listener. Perhaps in the future I/we will have an army of robotic fans to mob and molest me/us in the street. Until that time comes I/we have you. Thank-you for tuning in. I/we really mean that. Without you the show would be nothing.

'Long Time' by Cake
 'Fame is fleeting', said Oscar Wild, 'but obscurity is forever'
'Forever is a mighty long time', said Prince, desperately hoping that no-one would notice he was taking himself far too seriously.

You like Prince don't you. You're willing to forgive his occasional forays into nobbishness and even his last three albums if it gives you the chance to bask in the light of his reflected purple glory. You really are a massive idiot. Only you're best friend would tell you... but you are.

'Looking for my Leopard' by Seven Seconds of Love 
When I/we say 'you'... I/we don't mean you. How could I/we possibly mean you. I/we don't even know you. Probably. You could be Brian Cox for all I/we know. You could be Justin Lee Collins. You could be a contender for gods sake. 
Just who do I/we mean when I/we say you then?
Probably me/us. That's who I/we are really talking about here. At heart I/we am/are a/all Fanboy/Fanboys. Surely there is nothing wrong with having heroes. Surely that deserves to be forgiven, perhaps even encouraged.

'Breaking the Girl' by The Red Hot Chilly Peppers

See... look... Erotic Toast... get it!

Flea plays the flute on this track. That doesn't sit well in your mind with your image of Flea, the muscular Bass player with the fixed speed-head grin and outlandish tatoos. When you think of the flute you imagine polished public school girls pursing their lips. You imagine Ron Burgundy popping his head under the toilet door. This new contradiction introduces you/us to a new and interesting quatum state of mind where flea can exist on both Bass Guitar and the Flute at the same time. I/we are betting that this is more than your monkey brain can handle. Unless of course you/we are professor Brian Cox.

'Thinking about You' by Radiohead
Damn you/us Brian Cox, Damn you/us to hell.  I/we are going to the bathroom. I/we are typing this message. I/we are out eating a meal with my/our cousin because it's his/your birthday.
What time is it?
It's that time of day when my/our wife gets home and wonders why we/you haven't done any washing up yet. I/we will tell you/us what time it is/isn't. It's time for me/us/you to go.

Goodnight.

42: A plague on both your houses!

I was pretty sick when we recorded this show. I'm all better now. Sometimes when you have a near death experience like that your whole life flashes before your eyes... This is one of those times. I know I bullshit a lot but all of these are true.

To hear this episode (which mostly consists of me coughing...)  press

PLAY

Track Listings

 '2nd Sucks' by A day to Remember
Memory one... it's sports day and in order to make myself run faster I have bought myself a Mars Milkshake drink. I am pretty quick for a short kid and manage a half decent time in the 100 meters. Then I heave over and puke that milkshake all over the floor.

'I Could Never Break Your Heart' by Fol Chen
Memory two. I am on a German exchange programme. I am 14 years old and wandering around a zoo in Hamburg with a kid called Gavin from Weston super Mare. Before we went to the zoo we had been to visit the Burgermeister  (Mayor). There had been a hospitality table with free cokes and I'd loaded up on that shit. Now, back at the Zoo, I badly need to piss but all the signs are in German and to make matters worse they seem to lead me on a route that goes all the way around the damn zoo before going anywhere near a urinal. To cut a long story short, somewhere near the Penguins I piss myself. Gavin and I walk around until my trousers dry off. Then we get back on the bus with all the other kids and go back to the hotel.

'Side projects are never successful' by Bomb the Music Industry 
Memory three. Despite a crippling lack of talent my mum is convinced I can follow in her footsteps and play in an orchestra, she plays the cello (so does my sister) and I play violin. I fail the audition but they let me in anyway because mum is one of the teachers and they are worried that if none of her kids are involved she will stop volunteering her weekends and they will have to find a new cello coach.
I am a fourth row second violin. I am mostly lost and holding the bow above the strings so that I don't mess thing up for my mum by actually making any noise.

Sometimes we play a piece called 'Andrews piece.' All I know is that I like it and it's by one of the kids in the orchestra. I assume one of the soloists or  front row 1st's.  There is another kid in my row called 'Scabby' he stinks like a tramp and is badly bullied. Word is he'll do anything for half a chew-it. I find out weeks later that he is Andrew. The contradiction blows my mind.


'Highways' By Joe Purdey 
Memory Four. It's the last year of GCSE's I am reeling from the fact that my parents have finally divorced. My sister is dating a psycho boxer and I am getting regularly beaten up in the street, (mostly for being small, white and confused).

I decide that talking is over rated and that it's easier to get through school if I just stop. I don't say another word for two months. On my last day a group of kids tells me that they are going to gather in the stairwell to beat me up when the bell goes. I don't even try and avoid them. I just walk right over and let them do it. After a while they get bored and I walk home.

'Hands down' by Dashboard confessional
Memory Five. I am standing with my old best friend at the top of a hill called 'Dangerous Hill' We are looking at the view of the city. In that moment we are in love with the city. We love the reality of it. The ugly beauty. This city of tiny lights is spread out in front of us like a mirror image of the milky-way. In my mind each one of those lights represents another human being, another life, another perspective on the unknowable nature of the universe.

Years later I try and skateboard down dangerous hill and bust up my ankle pretty bad. Guess I should have taken more heed of the name.

'I walked' Sufjan Stevens 
Memory Six. I am sixteen and living in rural Wales. My route home takes me past some crazy ass one-eyed farm-dogs that like to chase cars. Usually one of my step brothers is with me but today I am on my own. The dogs look at me. I look at them. They bare their teeth and growl. I decide to go around the block to avoid them. It turns out that 'Around the block' is about five miles, this is the trouble with applying urban logic to a rural problem.

'In the Offing' by Worn in Red 
Memory Seven. I am 11 years old and lying on a beach, everyone else is body-boarding later on I will have a go and realize how fun it is but right now I think it looks silly, cold and dangerous. I am next to a four month old baby who is playing with some pebbles. Just as I am drifting off into a day dream the kid picks up a rock and smashes it into my head. It doesn't break the skin but it hurts like hell huge lump comes up like in a cartoon. The baby laughs and laughs.
 
'Walkin' by My Morning Jacket
Memory Eight. I am thirty years old and I'm not happy about it. My cousin has just died in an avalanche on Ben Nevis. the dude was amazing. Pure smile, muscle and heart and now I'm off to his funeral.  There is snow all over the road and in order to get my car out I am having scrape it off the road with a shovel and lay a trail of rock salt that some guy has brought out from his house. I hate snow is a way that I never thought I would.

Goodnight.