Here's the coo, the personnel files on the boys in the band...........Banished like a rabid dog from ye olde local tavern & ostracised by the clean living 'citizens' of his hometown, a scruffy spikeytop & his worldly posessions of half a bottle of Smirnoff, a barrel of bad attitude & a roll-up, lurches towards the train station, punches his ticket (inspector) & awaits the lonesome train outta that godforsaken one horse town...next train is 2002 reads the time table. our local anti-hero plonks himself down on the platform chair & mumbles....."cunts...fuck'em... never liked it here anyway... humbug...pussy...fuckin' kick'em in the fanny....fuck....steak....tits...knock their fuckin' teef out...cunts....etc.." A veteran of the scene with the likes of punk shockers 'Sick on the Bus' & punk rockers 'the Varukers'...our boy ain't too worried about this situation that he finds himself in...OH-FUKKIN'-NO!!' he's been around the world on a shoestring, fought & died in the Adriatic.. several times....a girl in every port, a snort in every state, a mate in every town....he knows the score in ten different languages, he'll be alright, you'll fukkin' see, stick yer fukkin' pub & yer fukkin' bar tab & yer fukkin' town up yer arse......two days later he stands up from the chair & crosses the bridge to the platform marked 'this way for London'.
Later.....North London falls under the filthy shadow of it's new arrival, the wildman of Bedford spits, staggers & sways his way across town, he knows where he's goin', & he knows where he's cuntin' been, alright? he swigs his last swig o' vodka & launches the offending empty bottle at a wall, the wall says something, 'ouch' (no, not really you gullible twats) it says 'Bop Street'. Our intrepid travelling tit has arrived, he gets a warm feeling all over about this place, he knows it's home...then he realizes he's involuntarily pissed himself! Gritting his tooth, he ventures into the nearest spit 'n' sawdust to get a voddy, fuck the piss.....punk innit?& this is where fate intervenes, because my children, call it what ya want...kismet, divine contraception or mystic Meg but what other reason could it have been the Elly head that ol' pissy pants dripped into?.....& what other reason would another local ( for here he did live) hero have been doing sliding outta the bog & along the bar in the very same establishment on this here hair o' the dog day afternoon? huh?? A mere mite of a shaver as far as being in a band was concerned but he knows his onions, OH FUKKIN' YES!! a seasoned master of the rest of the rock 'n' roll cliches such as drinking (meet ya under the table)... fighting (fly like a butterfly &.....er...?) & not to mention fuckin' (fuckin' useless) see? it's fate is that!! well? the weekends bloodfarts were all but gone, so get 'em in & let's talk shit...& talk shit they did & from the verbal dihorea, an abomniable plot was sporned, that age old drunken conversation, the one we all hope will be forgotten when you wake up the next day with the local priest up yer arse & a bible in yer mouth, wondering where the next pint's coming from..(the priest probably..haha)..well we've all done it ain't we?but..BUT, they did not forget, they remembered, they plotted, planned & recruited for the cause...next up bop street, lost whilst lookin' for the nearest Outback bar was Matt the guitar man, the amiable australian, with whom they bonded over a tattoo, the good ol' cobber who hid behind Billy bass idiot for the first 5 gigs & ventured out only to have his Les Paul unplugged by Billy's two left feet......involuntary air-guitars r us...so they got the guitars & the bass & now they need a drummer, but they got Ed. It was Matt who introduced eddy the drummer into the fold, eddy who thought that a 'Sick on the Bus' badge was the name of one of the Jackoffs songs, Eddy who didn't even know the name of the band, Eddy who did about 3 gigs & went to the off license & never came back, missing in Kilburn somewhere, howling at the moon. Ed was replaced by Criss of D.A.G. fame who did the next 2 gigs...one terribly good & one terrible & then got mysteriously stuck on a boat in the Thames on the night of a practice, (also the night England were playing football) come in Mrs Marple!! The butler did it! Anyways it's about this time that Scum of Celtic Bones fame had a word in a J-O's shell-like, "pssst, wanna get summink together mate?" .."huh?, well not really but we do need a drummer!!" ....deals were dealt, contracts signed, gentlemens hands were shaken, lives signed away & reahearsals arranged, sweet! but no, wait...Matt had to take a sabattical due to financial strangulation by dickensian bosses & landlords & also the charms of a fair maiden...another hiccup filled the Jackoffs wind pipe!! It must be love, god bless'em...so back to the pub to think about the dilemma that our founder members found themselves in.....drowning in sorrows they were, "fuck,fuck,shit,fuck,Jack 'n' a vodka please Sandra, fuck, shit..etc.." when up sails a portugese man o' war & from the plank walks........a plank!! haha it's Captain Nuno, porksword in hand, nicotine patch on his eye & full o' semen!! the pirate of Camden was pressganged onto the good ship Jackoff with the age old tradition of dropping a pill in his pot....tip-top daddio, I'll wager he's never had to save a sinking band before!!.....it looked like plain sailing but a storm was-a-brewing down under, quit yer fukkin' boppin' cos Skum was having a funny turn & decided he had to leave on the eve of his debut gig wiv the boys!! he fulfilled his contractual agreement to do the gig, which was a good'un....but promptly disappeared to the outback. tut-tut..... you can say that again!! back to the bar for more tears in the beers......next (& still) on the drumstool is mohican Jorge, another portugeezer in the band, a rare treat in the world of drums, as in, he's always on time & even has his own kit...stand back in amazement......the rest as they say....is history......'til next time This Profile Was Created Using The Lethal Design MySpace Editor
