Have a Shitty Weekend!

Photo by Nick Davie

It’s that time of year again, where we celebrate the reanimated corpse of Jesus Christ flying into the heavens like a bearded Jewish Iron Man with a four-day weekend of debauched greed and alcoholism. Perhaps you can organise your own little "Easter egg hunt" in the tiny back garden of your hideous flatshare; little eggs clumsily hidden in rats' nests, under vast piles of fag ends and in the space where your bike used to be before it got nicked, all loaded up with "mystery powders". Whichever egg you get you have to bang out a line of said mystery powder. Could be coke, could be ket, could be flea powder, could be sand – you just will not know until it erupts into your brain via your nasal passage.

If you’re not so into my "smash cheap erroneous street drugs up your hooter" game then there’s a plethora of totally shit things for you to do this weekend, and here are just a few of them.

Have a shitty weekend, when you die, you're not coming back.

The Feast Of St George
Trafalgar Square, London, Mon 21 April

There’s nothing us lot in England love more than pretending we enjoy each other’s company. We are a nation who, for some bizarre reason, have a collective hallucination of togetherness, while simultaneously being the most passive aggressively misanthropic cunts on the planet. It can only be a great idea, then, to collect all these Union Jack hat wearing nationalists and plonk them on a long table in the centre of the capital, under the watchful eye of a man who got a right old kick out of slaughtering hordes of Frenchmen.

If you still don't know this, St George was basically a Palestinian Christian who wouldn't stop running his mouth off at the Roman Emperor Diocletian. When the Emperor politely asked him to worship some Roman Gods (fair), St George refused, and was subsequently duppied as a result – real hero shit.

It’s this sort of gobby rejection of foreign customs that the English feel such an affinity with, and the perfect way to celebrate it is to alienate everyone by doing Morris dancing, which is basically just an antiquated version of slut-shaming, bang in the middle of London. It’s really just a showcase of entertainments that are now grossly outdated and thus useless. Do you want to be bothered by a jester? Do you want to watch a shadow puppet show? Or do you just want to sit on a park bench with a Tyskie and abuse whoever walks past?

Because that's actually much, much more English.

Spoti-Friday
The Deaf Institute, Manchester, Fri 18 April

Fuck my old boots, can you imagine anything worse than having to listen to a stranger’s taste in music all night? Not just *A* stranger, like a low level B@1 DJ playing Arctic Monkeys to cokey banker types, but all sorts of pricks you would boak at the thought of even speaking to – playing music that they think is good. It would be a total nightmare. It is the equivalent of when some weirdo at a house party takes over the speakers and plays Gogol Bordello, but demands you listen to it until the end because it’s "their turn" – which, by the way, is the biggest misunderstanding of "creating a vibe" going. People didn't turn my stuff off because they liked it, not because they felt sorry for me. That doesn't give you the right to imprison us all in your musical Alcatraz.

Also, surely nights, bars, venues have to be thematic? You can’t have someone play the Ghostbusters theme tune into Alien Ant Farm’s "Smooth Criminal" cover into a Miles Davis B-side, it’s absurd, and not funny-absurd, either. If you want to piss everyone off with your shit music taste then just upload another one of your crap mixes to SoundCloud, you prick.

Shake, Rattle & Bowl
All Star Lanes, London, Sat 19 April

Speaking of ruining things with shit music taste, we have Shake, Rattle & Bowl. Bowling is one of the few mediums of entertainment left in which being alongside your fellow man isn’t completely unbearable. One of the great things about bowling alleys is the terrible mid-90s-to-current-day pop music that is blared at full volume through every speaker in the room. You can hear AllSTARS' cover of "Land Of Make Believe" and Hear’Say, but it’s cool because it adds to the chintzy feel of an adolescent birthday party. The last fucking thing it needs is dudes from Southend dancing like Pulp Fiction Travolta to freakbeat and Wee Willie Harris in their Velcro bowling shoes.

Why mess with such a perfect formula? I don’t understand why things can’t just be left alone. People with tattoos and beards always fuck everything up. Have a shitty weekend, you greaseball bastards; I hope your racist girlfriend cheats on you.

@joe_bish