Out now: the new Plan B magazine. It is v. pretty, and features cutesy folk-harpist Joanna Newsom on the cover.

Inside are many rad things, some of them even by me, such as:

1) An interview with top grimette MC Shystie.

2) A chat about vaginal deodorant with Har Mar Superstar.

3) Dj/rupture explaining how he's 'replicating the improvisational patterns of the Arabic taqasim in electronic music'.

4) Details of how to play 'Ooh I'm Skinnyman' - it's the hott new game that all the Dalston fashionistas just can't get enough of.

Plus other stuff not by me, including rad-proggers Comets on Fire, synth-poppers Le Tigre, jap-boppers (that's enough - ed) 5,6,7,8s, and oooh loads more. Get your copy from Borders, or order one off the Plan B website.

And while you're there, don't forget to check out my wife's weblog, for fascinating insights into her/our domestic life, plus lots of clever talking about music that I don't really understand.

Going fishing now. Back Sept 30. Hah!

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Men! I know you've been gagging to discover some effective ways to crush your own balls in your own home using a variety of household implements! Here you go. Don't forget the top tip - wrap an elastic band around them and then don a pair of tight lycra cycling shorts before you start, just to make sure those tricksy buggers don't try to get away. Y'all have fun now!

The new Bust is out. Hurrah! And, gosh, someone's invented a way to LOCK YOURSELF OUT OF THE INTERNET so you can actually get on with some work! It's like the opposite of Ghostzilla. I know which one I'd rather have.

Anyway! Palm-reading is so eight million years ago. It's all about pube-reading now, darling. According to those krazy Jap-types, the shape of a lady's pubic hair determines her sexual proclivities. And if she ain't got any? I think we all know what that means, right? Unless she's five.

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'Check this grodey shit out!' writes our top drunk girl journo Alice. ' For just $47.99 you can dress your precious innocent up like a pimp or a ho! Perfect for birthdays, Halloween, and celebrating the day the patriachy finally becomes a boot stamping on the face of humanity over and over for the rest of time!'

Wash your mind out by downloading this wukkid Shystie track 'Get Boyed'. Over a dancehall rhythm, the little MC from Hackney tells men with small... feet that they might as well not bother even talking to her, and warns men with big feet not to get too damn confident either since most of them suck too, and by the way, they all need to go get circumcised, because 'no girl wanna see cock-line mildew!' Eyyyyyy! *salutes Shystie*

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Further to the previous entry: a song that my wife* made for me on the songmachine! Here we are singing it (several years before it was written, and with our mouths closed). Awww! We looked so happy - and we weren't even married back then!

*wife = BFF, flatmate, soulmate ALL AT ONCE! Every girl should have one. And send her a song.


This thing is so cute! What it is, it's lots of little words cut out of songs, which the internet then sticks together and turns into a new song! You can create a tune and mail it to a friend and make their day! I sent my wife a song about the cowboy. The device hasn't quite reached the level of being able to rap Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'I Like Big Butts' in Greek yet - a prerequisite for any modern appliance, don't you think? - but it can only be a matter of time. All together now:

"I like big butts and I am not being untruthful
Verily, the maiden has a back!"


Hi, could it be a bit more creepy and gross to go to the dentist, please? I really don't think all the pain and fear and poking is unpleasant enough to put me off at this point, so could you make some grody guy inject his spunk down a few women's throats while they're semi-conscious in his chair? That ought to do it. Thanks!

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"When male music critics write about [Courtney] Love, their prose often spasms with a kind of revolted body horror. The following elements, real or imagined, all contribute: the pills, the trackmarks, the promiscuity, the plastic surgery." Word. Free Love!

Men, meat, pirates, plagiarism, shabby-chic and duct-tape accessories: not, as you might think, just another Sunday afternoon at our delightful local The Stud Farm - all these things are the new black, apparently! Goth dressing just got a whole lot more interesting.

Whoo, check it out: "IMWatching is a free web service that lets you generate reports of when your instant messaging buddies log on, log off, go idle, mark themselves away, and more." Holy crap. Online stalking just got that little bit more...stalkery.

I dig all those type sites, but sometimes they don't always show you how to make stuff you'd actually wanna make. Like, punk rock sock monkey? Crocheted skull? Cute, but, hey! there's enough SHIT all over my room and in my life already, thanks! But an internet radio show... yeah.... that's something I'd like to make. And now, thanks to, I might just be able to. Hurrah!

And finally... where the fuck are they gonna find 1,000 modern men that want to be fathers? Come on...

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Bring on tha freaks! Today's entry is devoted to fems who are twisted, unusual, bizarro and/or just plain inspiring. My favourite kind! First off: 'She wore an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, blood-soaked red-and-black bikini' - whup whup, it's the Zombie Pin-ups! Marvel at their weeping sores! Shudder at their exposed tendons! Fear their flashing yellow eyes! Zombie Pin-ups - because what man *doesn't*
want to make it with a suppurating dead girl?
(don't answer that).

And now: Defyra, a group of Swedish girl interior designers, who make red reindeer heads, water-glasses with waists, forest wallpapers and interiors studded with magic mushrooms. They dress in traditional costumes and make chairs out of skis. Kewt! They could only be more perfect if they made records also. Someone sign these chicas, pronto!

How to combine fashion, art, politics and cootchie. Sure, slogan t-shirts are generally pretty shuddersome, but slogan pants still got it goin' on, not least because most people don't have to see them. And as slogan pants go, these 'The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own' pants are pretty darn sweet. The chick behind this clothing company started it 'entirely by accident' - she was spotted wearing a t-shirt of her own design and, inspired by the Guerilla Girls and Barbara Kreuger, decided to take her slogan art that little bit further. Now us UK types just need to find as good a pun for 'Blair', and we're sorted. Anyone?

Sonya 'The Black Widow' Thomas
is the women's world competitive eating champion, and also holds the American record. She ate 32 hot dogs (including the bun) in 12 minutes, then, when they called time, put down her hot dog, then picked it up again and resumed eating. 'Afterwards', she told an American mag, 'I was still hungry, so when I got back to my hotel, I ordered a club sandwich.' I have an unshakable urge to salute any fem who makes it in a man's world, regardless of whether or not that world is unsavoury, unethical or a demonstration of the reason for America's obesity problem taken to its logical extreme. Others are not so sure. (check the comments).

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Gents! Why bother having a real girlfriend, with all those inconvenient things that girls tend to have, like emotions and menstrual cycles, when you can get one of these imaginary ones? Or why not check out these Supermodel Personals? Because supermodels need love too, y'know.

Having followed the advice given in the estimable Amy Kellner's article Hey DJ, Fuck You!, I have now 'played out' a total of two times! *salutes self*. It is my new favourite thing. I like to dj with my sister. She slides the thingy across, while I make sure to press play at exactly the right time. When we get it right we do a little high five. It's delightful! So if you would like a selection of sexist booty bass and sleazy electro and suchlike to be played at your shop opening / art show / club night by two very wonderful girls, get in touch!


'Even if this type of bra make your breast low, no concern of mine'. A revolutionary approach to underwear design, from the same godlike genius that brought us the hanty.

Further proof that boys just can't get enough of counting things: good old Rob from has worked out that there are 600,426,974,379,824,381,952 possible ways to spell Viagra! Better clear your diary for the next year or so - s'gonna take a while to adjust those spam filters.

As well as counting, another thing that men are really good at is: collecting things! For no reason whatsoever, this lovely man has decided to collect second-hand pictures (not rude ones!!!!) of women and dogs. That's it. Thrifted pictures of women and dogs, together, in the same photo. Thousands of them. That's so perfectly retarded that it makes me want to do a little cry.

Think you're having a bad day? At least you're not the Winnebago Man! (requires Quicktime). Thank god no one taught him how to say 'cunt'...

And finally...Anime fan in 'has sex' shocker! Don't tell all the Jap-obsessed indie boys: they'll only get jealous.

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Worried about the safety of your iPod when wandering round scary, rough, dodgy areas like, say, my manor Hackney (seen here through the eyes of a fellow blogger who says 'Unfortunate enough to live in Hackney, I console myself by appreciating the nutcases I meet every day')? Why not chazz an old Walkman and make yourself a Retropod? The subtle way to let people know you're Jonathan Io's greatest fan while keeping those pesky muggers at bay!

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DAY 09 JULY 2004

It's time for Blaire to get married!
Blaire is a 'confident, creative, spiritual independent woman' who you might think 'doesn't need any help' (apart from help from the contrast tool in Photoshop, but then, who doesn't?) getting married. Hm. Can't quite decide how to take this one. Is she:

a) A go-getting fem chasing a goal and therefore something to be celebrated, as everything a woman does now empowers women, even really crappy things

b) A lame desperate man-chaser attempting to buy into boring old played-out tradition

c ) A savvy marketing genius who's just turned herself into another self-styled web celeb, thereby driving up traffic on her career-related websites which are cannily linked to from the homepage of her site (she coaches singles on improving their self-esteem and is an event planner for people getting married)?

Place your bets now!

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Bristol-based hip-hop fanzine DUTTY GIRL and long-time AMP contributer Lady Lucy's Independent Heroine feminist arts imprint join together for a Hip-Hop Herstory residency on Radio Dialect. The first show discussed 'the foremothers of hip-hop', and over the next three weeks they'll be exploring female hip-hop pioneers from Roxanne Shante and Ran Digga to Li'l Kim and The RealRoxanne. Tuesday nights,, 7-8pm. AMP mininzine says: check it out!

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Here's what I want you to do.

1) Go to
2) Select artist: 'Avenue D'
3) Playlist all their tracks
4) Read this live review of them (also appears in Plan B magazine)

So. Are you sitting comfortably? Avenue D - Debbie and Daphne - are two of the rudest, sluttiest girls I think I've ever heard. Beyond proud to be 'freaky bitches', they'd send most indie boys running to the other side of the room in an instant, their hands between their thighs to protect their indie tweezer dicks. Sample lyrics:

Fuck me hard / pull my hair / grab my neck / fill me up with cum and sweat/
I don't give a shit / come on my tits / make me twitch / I'm a dirty bitch
Bend over / shut your eyes / grit your teeth / spread your thighs
Beat me beat me beat me up / in your rusty pick-up truck
Throw me down / treat me rough / don't come till I've had enough

Talk about topping from the bottom. It's like the chicks from Max Hardcore films or given voice to a soundtrack of booty bass and commodore 64 beats. Look forward to a big phat feature interview with them in a future issue of Plan B, in which we discuss masochism, indie boys, wimpsters, feminism (second wave, third wave, 'ecriture feminine', whatever), plus internet porn, face-slapping, asphyxia, the uses of the SID chip, and the best ways to meet dirty boys rough enough to meet their exacting demands. Of course, this interview hasn't happened yet, but I am going to make it happen, and I can hardly wait.

Avenue D website (buy me a pair of booty shorts!)
Plan B website (buy yo'self a copy of the magazine!) (irritate other listeners by playing the same four tracks again and again!)

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Right sluts - fAsHiOn cOrNeR tImE! Jew-lo pants, what would Barbara Streisland do t-shirts - yup, it's Jewish chic! Time to bust out the Jew-fro and challah tee, dress the dog in a doggy yarmulke and tallis and crank the 50 Shekel up to 11...

Or, alternatively, fuck fashion! If you are doing a sad because Cheap Date's International Fashion Strike got can
celled, never mind. You can protest against built-in obsolescence and the eternal cycle of continuing co-option (translation: what wankers fashion ppl are) in a more subversive and artistic way by joining The Grey Sweatsuit Revolution! Hark:

"The battle against fashion needs to be fought differently. We cannot simply dress weirder than the mainstream in an attempt to dull our sense of complicity with western consumer society. Dissent through conscious differentiation simply feeds the fashion system by providing it with fresh expression to appropriate."

Their solution? Hipsters dress in grey sweatsuits for, like, ever, the mainstream fashion world has nothing to co-opt, and fashion DIES! Hah! Plus, people stop wasting time using silly old clothes as a form of expression, and have to start doing something useful with their time, like making art, or music, or campaigning against landmines in Somalia or whatever. It'll never catch on.

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image of joel gibb by viviane sassen, as seen in butt magazine And now, wandering over to iNdIE mUsIc LAnD... some of our favourite things are beautiful music, beautiful gayboys, and A5 pink magazines. See them all combined into one glorious whole as perennial AMP fave fagmag BUTT interviews Joel Gibb from the Hidden Cameras. In case you ain't heard of them, and I'm sure you have, the Hidden Cameras are this fabulous indie-pop guitary choral churchy folky harmony-drenched bunch of hardcore gayers that sing about piss sex and enemas and banning marriage for homos and being in and out of love, and you should totally go and buy all their records right this second, unless you are dead on the inside or something, in which case stick to Evanescence.

But then: why listen to the whole of glorious pop songs when you can just listen to the coolest song parts? And then, why not make a list of the fifty coolest song parts in the entire world? And then, why not completely fuck it up by suggesting that the coolest song part in the entire world is THE BIT WHEN THE DRUMS FINALLY KICK IN IN PHIL COLLINS'S IN THE AIR TONIGHT? Hello? If this is irony, someone should forward them the irony-is-dead memo that the rest of the world got a couple years back. And if this isn't irony, someone should just kill me - or them - now. I don't really mind which, just as long as it's soon.

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Doesn't it suck when someone does a magazine you've been meaning to do for ages but were just too lame to get your shit together and actually do? No, because at least said magazine actually exists, and god it looks good.

Check out Sweet Action Magazine, which features skinny-ass dirty-hott hipster boys in their pants, and, errr, that's about it. Hurrah! It's independent magazines like this which make you think maybe the world's not such a shit place after all, and you realise that, though we've got a long way to go, baby (equal pay for equal work would be a nice place to start, for example) things sho' nuff are changing for the better for us ladies.

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HEY L@@K - Christian anime! Therefore, with no tentacle rape, eyeballs being ripped out and placed in vaginas, or 12-year-old schoolgirls with cat ears and melon-breasts getting raped by their own brothers! Which sucks! It's like... low-fat ice-cream or something! It's like: why? Christians should just accept that there are some things they're just *not* allowed to co-opt. I mean, they get to have everlasting life and to eat the sweet flesh of Jesus every single Sunday night - why should they get anime too? That just ain't on.

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