Stimulation makes me a happy panda and mostly I live at Hubris.
Right now I am pimping out my newish zine called 101 Stories That I Want To Tell You. If you want it, and surely you do, because it's 32 A4 pages long, and overflowing with ghost angst, get in touch and we'll trade and that'll be radsicles.
I also run a Country Club where every month a group of likeminded individuals come together to celebrate a particular country. Next up is Sweden on December 9. Bring something for the smörgåsbord.
Previous country clubs have included:
Oktoberfest for Germany: beer, sausages, bad pop records in German from the '80s taking the place of polka, but as far as I'm aware no gang rape took place, so it wasn't authentically Munich. But we did make lots of Nazi jokes.
LiveAid for Africa: we raised $100 to buy chickens, soap and AIDs awareness kits.
America: we had a frat party that featured hazing, hot dogs and most importantly a keg. And kegstands.
The Caribbean: pirate outfits, rum, pirate mini-golf and a Caribbean feast of goodness.
Japan: we celebrated Tentacle Porn, watched My Neighbour Totoro and did karaoke on the singstar machine, washed down with large amounts of sake and Asahi.
Oh Canadia: pancakes with maple syrup and bacon, Moosehead beer and Canadia Club whiskey, fries with cheese and gravy are surprisingly tasty, the Arcade Fire and The Dears, as well as playing the Canadian Headbands game.
China: Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan, Chinese food, Tsing Tao beer, fireworks, fortune cookies and Chinese horroscopes.
Rome: (Is totally a country, shut up or I will punch you in the vagina) Caligula, togas, wine and an orgy array of Romanish food.
You should totally join my Country Club. Or even just go to the myspace group equivilent of it: The Country Club Without An O
