Press Release for ‘Goitre’ World Of Sheds’ illustrious new fragrance.

 

 

Hot on the heels of the triumphant success of ‘Gusset pour Elle’ and ‘Eau de Rust’ comes World of Sheds new fragrance, and it doesn’t disappoint.

‘Goitre’ is a unisex fragrance.  It’s creator, Dr. Angel Industries, said this about it’s creation:

"I wanted to develop something that you could say, spray on a mangy dog or on the carpet after you’d knocked over an ashtray trying to get to a twelve string guitar after too many ‘bier du france’.  I wanted it to evoke childhood memories of tying string to plastic bags to make kites and thoughts of work houses and tithes.  Goitre is a fragrance that might entice the object of your affections to to slip a beer mat under some cook’s matches.  Y’know.  Don’t we all want that?

Don’t we all want to shout ‘Ecce Romana!’ every now and again? "

Yes.  Yes we do.

In describing Goitre, one cannot do it enough justice, but attempts must be made:

Upon the first application of Goitre, a woody topnote of Netto and Poundland emerges, catching your breath in the back of your throat, as if you might gag, but not quite.  Then notes of 20 B&H emerge and mingle with the soft scent of fungal nail infection.  These notes alone are enough to loosen the bowels of the object of your affections.  This then reveals the sensuous heart of the fragrance, a combination of the repeal of the corn laws and the outrageous economic policy of Chaka Demus and Pliers.  This then gives way to the end notes of black bile, three squares and E flat.  A memory of platipii is evoked. 

 

Goitre can be purchased at any Focus Point Stores near you!  Alternatively, Goitre can be purchased at the world of sheds consumer wesbite, along with other world of shed merchandise:  the portable urinal (with feminine adaptor), the invisi-surgical truss and, who could forget the tuba monster breeding kit?

www.worldofshedsmerchandise.com/stinkystuff 

A Epistolary Novel by Angel Industries and Sherby57

A hazard of Parsnips by Dr. Angel Industries and Sherby 57
 
This novel will take the form of a series of letters betwist my good pal and fellow whimisical genius, Sherby 57.  Keep checking in for the novel to unfold
Chapter 1
 
Dear Barrell O’ Parsnips Market Stall holder.

It may come as a surprise to you, yea, it came as quite a surprise to me the true extent of my feelings. Let me set the scene, o sweet barrell-hand. I happened upon you whilst downstairs in the Skem concourse, it was the smell of your beetroot that first aroused me to the sensibility that you were present. I followed the pugnency until I happened upon you proper. There you were, standing o so proud, displaying your wares in what I can only describe as a cavalier manner, with a blatant disregard for my heart.

My heart quickened and a flush came to my countenance as my gaze came to lay on your fungal nail infection. O happy day! Screamed my hormones as my gaze wandered luxuriously to your ‘british bulldog’ Argos chain and your be-sovreigned hands. The stench of stale stella and 20 Rothmans only served to blur the outer limits of my peripheral vision with desire.

O, sweet gent, I turned ‘pon my heel and ran into the cool, sharp fresh air to gain control of my abandon. I placed my hand on my brow, drenched with sweat and Insette hairspray.

All that’s left to say, sir, before I hold my tongue,

‘ows about it luv?

Your enduring servant

Dr. Angel Industries
World of sheds
Back of Aldi
Level 42

It’s a private emotion that fills us tonight…

 

…as international leather pants wearer, Ricky Martin reminds us.  Which brings me on to the World Of Emotions.  Emotions.  They can be tricky things, but seeing as I have experienced at least one emotion in my life, I feel well placed to guide you through the complex maze that is Emotion. 

 

Don’t confuse emotions with needing to go to the toilet, WoS enthusiasts!  That’s called passing a motion.  Something very different.  You don’t want to get those two mixed up. 

I will attempt to classify in a corollary (that’s for you, personal construct theory fans!) a taxonomy of Emotions that exist.  Case examples, will of course, follow.  Bien sur.

WoS Emotion Taxonomy

Anger    The feeling you get when your tanning cabin token gets mislaid

Sadness  A feeling similar to the feeling you get when a collection of arrows comes to rest around your personal viaduct.  The feeling you get when you lose your job in the abbatoir/carrot packing factory

Happiness  The feeling you get when the object of your affections invites you to inspect the back of Aldi behind the bins and you are able to violate your personal boundaries without fear of repercussion.

Excitement  The feeling you get when your subscription of ‘Copper Sulphate Monthly’ arrives!  Yay!

Bile   The feeling you get when you find out that Charles and Eddie have been lying to you all along.  They also read your diary. They were in every line. 

Billowy  A feeling similar to the sound of ken, fred and Shalimar.

Lust  The feeling you get when you observe two angles that both exceed 67 degrees.

Urban Cookie Collective  The feeling you get when realise you have both the key AND the secret.

 

I hope that clears things up for you all.  Now you can go about your life with a smug sense of knowing this complex and fascinating world that is emotion.

In other WoS news: keep your eye devices peeled for The New World of Shed Fragrance.  This comes expediently on the back of the hit fragrances also from World of Sheds:  Eau de Rust, Crotch (courtesy of my friend, Flashsam) and ‘Gusset for her’.  A press release will shortly follow. 

Until then, I remain your humble servant

Straight Outta Swansea….

Straight outta Swansea

Oh my lord, avid World of Shed Readers,

 

I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you last night.  Eerie amber light fought it’s way through the gap in the blinds to tantalise and provoke me.  The juxtaposition of sodium and copper sulphate consumed my thoughts.

When I finally fell into a fretful slumber, I dreamt of lyrics of a new rap. 

 

Behold thus!  A rap in tribute to the DVLA!

 

Straight outta Swansea, Words/music Elizabeth Duke (2008)

D to the motherfuckin’ VLA

We drive all night and we work all day

Hey moto-boyo, grab that car key

‘Cos I’m hot like a dragon and I’m comin’ striaght outta Swansea

 

I got a drivin’ license to thrill and a V one eleven

So jump is my Astra and i’ll drive you to heaven

I gots me a tax disc-o and the registration documents to your heart

Oh, your engine’s turning over, baby, and your legally valid to start

 

Don’t want no bicycle, don’t want no walking

‘cos it’s your SORN that got me talkin’

Hey moto-boyo, check your insurance

‘cos i gots me an idea that might motor ordanance test your endurance

D to the motherfucking VLA

We drive all night and we work all day

Hey, moto-boyo, grab that motorhome key

Cos i’m hot like a welsh dragon, coming straight outta Swansea

 

FIN

Liverpool One-angel nil

 

Holla, dear WoS enthusiasts!

Today was a righteous day.  As the sun embraced me and roused me from my slumber at noon, I smiled a knowing smile.  For today was a day off!  Oh yes. 

Now, those of you that have the ‘fortune’ to know me know that other than sculpting my abs and talking about politics, there’s nothing I like more than clothes and the purchasing thereof.  It seemed ‘fitting’ (ho!) that I pass this sweet day in one of my favoured endeavours. 

Alas and alack I couldn’t get in to Manchester to visit the stark, sterile consumer-worlde of the Trafford Centre for there was an accident on the motorway and I was forced to turn back (Faschists!).  Thank both the Roman and Greek Gods (and possibly the Norse ones too) for Liverpool One!

It’s now 3 frickin 30 and I’ve yet to even touch cloth (ho!) of garments and I make my way to the mecca that is Liverpool one.  Now this baby is open ’til twenty hundred hours soldier.  O happy day!  Anything that means that I can fulfil and lengthen any opportunity for shop assistants to give me the ‘ups and downs’ is an opportunity to be seized.  One shop assistant in Urban Outfitters who wasa cross between a poor man’s Gok Wan and Sam Sparro gave me a ‘up and down’ look so hard I had to check whether I’d remembered to put on my keks after leaving the fitting room.  I had.  He was just being bitchy. 

When I was staring at pieces of cloth blankly in All Saints it struck me that all shops have a formula.  Read on, with your very own eye devices, my interpretation of contemporary chain stores!

I am Gap.  I am safe.  I will show you grey jumpers and jerseys in sludgy colours.  I won’t offend anyone, but I may send them into a soporitfic slumber, I am that boring.  I favour the middle aged lady.  I am Gap. 

I am All Saints.  I am ‘edgy’.  I have asymmetical hems and ragged edges.  I am creased and crumpled and look like I might possibly smell of damp.  I look like a hundred students have put fag burns in my clothes after drinking eggy snakebite black all night.  I am too cool for you. Even if you think you can buy something safe in me, like a bag, I’ll charge you £70 for one the size of an atom.  Turn away.  Get back to Gap. 

I am New Look.  People feel ashamed to say they shop in me and so call me ‘Nouveau Regarde’ to hide their palpable shame.  I am full of jersey material, glitter and sparkles.  I have patterns printed on my fabric rather than having actual patterned fabric.  ‘Tis cheaper that way.  If you work behind a bar, you will probably wear me.  You’ll wear one of my glittery tops with a pair of my black polyester trousers that will go shiny on the arse after you iron it once.  my tops and dresses have bits cut out of them so onlookers can observe your cleavage easily.  Je suis Nouveau Regarde

I am River Island.  I am all about the chains, the corsages, the diamantes and the bleach splatter.  If you buy a garment from me, it’ll have about a hundred different things sewn on it, that’ll clink and irritate and spoil what is otherwise a perfectly good item.  If you are over 30 and wear my clothes, you’ll look like the barmaid from the Dog and Duck. 

I am Oasis.  I fucking hate short people.  With their tiny fucking scrawny bodies and their short fucking limbs.  Why don’t they just fucking put on some weight and get some human growth hormone?  I despise them so much I’ll taunt them with my lovely clothes and entice them in.  Then once they’re in the fitting rooms after they’ve been carrying around some motherfucking gorgeous dress for half an hour and got all attached to it’s tailoring and detail, they’ll try my stuff on and realise it makes them look like a Romanian Orphan.  Ha.  Fucking bastards!  I am Oasis!  Haaaaaaahahahah!

 

FIN