< > I’ve not been on here properly for a while, have I, readers? I’ve been busy, ladies and gentlemen. Try writing a daily blog for Scuba for fifty one consecutive weeks and counting and write a thousand odd words every Friday for Ran$om Note and create, market and sell a load of 2017 Dead Celebrity Hunks and Babes of 2016 calendars and write questions for a monthly pub quiz and sort out the music for it and produce the PowerPoint presentation for it and write the Facebook event description for it and even create the fucking flyers for it. It’s not easy. It’s not easy being Tonka. And what do I get in return? Fuck all (except a weekly wage from Scuba). I don’t even get pointless acclaim anymore, do I? Nobody knows who I am these days. I could whop a picture of me wanking all over the face of Ten Walls with the caption, “I hate gays, and all”, and nobody would bat an eyelid. I’m off the radar now, lads. I used to be somebody. Resident Advisor used to love me. I’ve stopped receiving vinyl in the post. I get a million spam MP3 promos every day, but the vinyl dried up months ago – not that I’ve got a record player, anyway. I’m a shadow of my former self, and I need to kick my own arse, clip my own ear and scream loudly at myself in the mirror to pull myself together and let people know about Tonka again. I haven’t got a fucking clue who Tonka is anymore.
What is Tonka? Does he review dance music? Does he die on his arse at public speaking events? Does he write creatively? Does he believe what he writes? Does he care? Is he impressed by anybody in the dance music industry anymore? Is he shit now? Is he shot now? Is this bit interesting to anyone but himself? Is this sorry piece of introspection for real, or is it a badly done parody of something a teenage TWAT might write on a shit blog? Has Tonka gone boring (again)?
< > I had a right good old wank yesterday, everybody! It was over a picture I created in MS Paint, with Snipping Tool, of Ten Walls and an entire roster of WWF wrestlers in a private Royal Rumble. They were all in the same ring, inside one another’s rings, and it was well dirty. I’ve done all the different sex positions you could ever try in real life, so normal sex has become boring to me now. Fantasising about having anal sex with a homophobic DJ and thirty roided-up American musclemen was the last taboo I could think of smashing the back doors out of – and it worked! I exploded over this picture harder than I have ever exploded, and I’ve now clocked all of the taboos.
Contact me on firstname.lastname@example.org if you want to know more about sex taboos. Calls cost 89p per minute, especially from a landline.
< > PLUG It’s Tonka’s Pub Quiz next PLUG Wednesday night at Pepper’s Ghost PLUG in PLUG Leyton. I’m not hosting PLUG it this time, Shaun PLUG Roberts from Fabric is PLUG calling out the questions this time. Shaun did PLUG a great job of reading the PLUG answers out at the last PLUG quiz, when I lost my voice and my PLUG confidence, so I’ve PLUG begged him to host the entire fucking PLUG thing this time. I’ve PLUG written all the questions, and created the PLUG PowerPoint presentation, and the PLUG music, but I’m grateful PLUG for someone else to be reading out the questions, because, to be honest, PLUG it’s a fucking boring job.
Is Shaun getting paid to PLUG host Tonka’s Pub Quiz? I don’t PLUG know. I’m not getting paid, so if I find out that PLUG he is, I’m going to bomCONTENT REMOVED BY R$N LAWYERSbric to PLUG smithereens.
Go to Tonka’s PLUG Pub Quiz on Wednesday 7 December from PLUG around 8pm. You can WIN £50 of Phonica Records vouchers, you can WIN booze, PLUG you can WIN my heart, you can WIN my mind, you can WIN a PLUG signed photo of Ivan Smagghe, and you can WIN Tonka’s Pub Quiz.
Here’s the Facebook event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/669854456521794/
< > Did you watch The Missing the other night? If you’ve been watching the series, but haven’t watched the end of it yet, look away now, because this next bit contains SPOILERS.
I had to shed a tear when Julien Baptiste got sacked by the French police at the end. It turned out that it was him who’d been stealing all them little girls and locking them up in his loft, and his basement. Generally, he was a good detective, and he cracked a lot of cases, but the French police couldn’t really keep him on after finding out that he was a kidnapper, so it was right that he got fired by the creepy-looking Commissioner we all thought was the culprit throughout the series. The real twist at the end, though, was when Sophie and Alice suddenly woke up inside their shallow graves and winked at the camera, and who was the unseen child who was laughing at the same time? These ends were nicely left untied, and teases us with the prospect of another series. As did the bit after the credits stopped rolling, when it showed you the creepy-looking Commissioner framing Julien Baptiste for the abduction of Sophie, Alice and four or five young girls, before cutting to a shot of Julien Baptiste in prison, ironing out the cock of his cell block with a pencil. What did Julien whisper in the ear of the child killer who’s neck he’d just punctured, and why did the prison guard high-five him as Baptiste returned to his cell? I’m looking forward to series 3 of The Missing…if it ever comes.