///////////// FATMAIL DEBTMAIL ////////////////////

When future historians trawl through the wreckage of the memory of 2008, they will surely note some significant events. Some will mark '08 as the year that the tumescently spoilt cxck of global capitalism exploded in a vicious ejxculation of shame, covering us all in the rancid debt-juice brewed up in the capacious pinstripe trousers of a thousand greedy strap-ons in the City.


Others will remember Britain collectively overcome with patriotic hysteria when some British cyclists cycled faster than some other cyclists in Beijing and this country suddenly united under one groove for the first time since ecstasy had us all touching each other's backsides in a field near East Grinstead in the early nineties.


And others still will only recall joyously wacking off to Channel 5's erotic pre-midnight documentaries.


But, as we prepare to celebrate our 11th Birthday here at Fat! we will remember this as the year that The End came to a close. An era of music, love, party and enduring mediocrity. An era of dancefloor highs and cultural lows. An era when women were women, and men were standing closely nearby grinning lasciviously. We wish we could say that we will cherish the memories of the good times, but sadly the horse-pills have erased all of those. All we have left are the vague pangs of guilt, shame and a rather pronounced chafing of the lower perineum.


But what happened to The End? Luxury apartments, that's what. Where once a veritable microcosm of under-evolved humanity rubbed their sweaty faces up against each other to the endless throb of a tech-house kick-drum, now a handful of over-privileged snot-xrses will sit sipping lattes and smugly braying how lucky they are to live so close to Agent Provocateur. It can only be a sign of the crazy times we live in.


Yet, the global financial crisis means little if your only assets are piles of spectacularly useless vinyl records that would be unlikely to even provide a welcome diversion for a feral wolf-child emerging from 20 years solitary confinement and sensory deprivation in a Belgian dungeon. But records is what we've got, and we're gonna continue ruthlessly flogging them to you at every opportunity we get, until the bailiffs come for the very shirts on our back. Even if it means subsidising our income by hawking handjobs on Hampstead Heath, like most of the music industry will be doing by 2009.


But the show will go on. Other highlights of the year so far include:


1. Another memorable season in Ibiza. Record numbers of horse-pills were inserted up rotund xnuses and the recorded rate of nasal prolapses set a new EU record. Ibizan locals enjoyed almost unprecedented numbers of semi-neanderthal Britishers sloshing through their own vomit and urine on the streets of Ibiza's capital.

A suitably banal summary of this summer's events can be viewed on the latest We Love... videocast: vimeo.com





2. Thousands came out to Troublestock to honour and serve, using their money for something slightly more useful than keeping us in mandrax and imported viagra, by contributing to Paul Arnold's recovery fund from Leukemia.


What triumphs could possibly happen next?



///////////// THE END OF THE END OF THE END /////////////


Rumour has it that 10,000 club-trotting Italian sex-pests will be staging a mass leer to register their objection when The End club, their favourite stomping ground, closes at the end of the year. Whilst news has also come in that London Zoo's gorilla enclosure expects a sudden influx of new inhabitants as The End's door staff collect their P45s. While in east London, the big brains behind Matter offer thousands of clubbers the abject misery of traipsing through the windswept wasteland of London's docklands only to be humiliated on arrival by the sight of their own hideously gurning visages projected onto three thousand foot monitors inside the venue.


But if you think clubland's lost the plot, wait until you see the line-up we're plaintively hoping you'll think is cutting-edge for this month's Chew The Fat!


It's time to cut your losses and invest with your feet into a debenture of diabolical music at our veritable feast of credit crunk, debt-hop and drum'n'bailliff.


CHEW THE FAT! @ THE END 11th BIRTHDAY BASH, STARRING:




Duke Dumong

myspace.com


Micky Slimfast

myspace.com


The Rogue Elementary School

myspace.com


Foamoron vs Heavy Feetus

myspace.com

myspace.com


Kid Blueveined Member

www.myspace.com/kid_blue





//// In The Lounge No Way Back, present...



Drums of Deaf

www.myspace.com/drumsofdeath4eva


Baobingo

myspace.com


Resoapytitwxnk

www.myspace.com/corgrimey


Hey Joe and Mr Jugs


The Prats du Jour


DJ Big Hairy Balls and MC Neatly Trimmed Mimsy


myspace.com


PRIORITY ENTRY ADVANCE TICKETS - HERE

£12/£8 NUS; 11pm-6am / The End, 18 West Central Street, London, WC1A 1JJ
Info: 0207 924 1333 / thefatclub.com / Dress code: Trainers OK / Capacity: 1,000


Free entry for unconvicted sex offenders




/////////////// BUY THE FAT! /////////////////


Fat! Records' favourite work-shy producer, the dole-bludging MERKA returns at last with his second album ‘MAKE & DO' due out in November. His new single, ‘Back Home' is available now exclusively in the Fat! shop with remixes from Chewy Chocolate Cookies, Urchins & Pirate Soundsystem.



THE FAT! SHOP


His retrodub remix is available to download as a free taster HERE


Also available in the shop:


Gella: ‘Chi Kaa Chi Koo' (with Scott Cooper Remix)
Mystic Man & Eshamanjaro ‘In Heavy Weather - The Dubstep EP' (remixes from Reso & Hektagon)




/////////////// SOON THE FAT! ////////////////


New venue///


With The End being resigned to the shxt-bin of history, Chew The Fat! will be desperately touting around for a new venue. So if you are the proud owner of a space that will happily house a thousand gurning morons dancing like automatons to the sound formerly referred to as breakbeat, please drop us a line.


New Year's Eve party @ Plan B, Brixton////


If by December you haven't thrown yourself in front of a train to escape your spiralling mortgage debt, or eaten your own babies because your savings have been wiped off the face of the earth, you could always hasten yourself towards the finishing line by attending the Chew The Fat! New Year's eve party and Plan B in Brixton with very special guests to be announced soon. Watch this space and pray to whatever gods there are left.



//////////// THE END ///////////


By the way, you owe us money. Lots of it. We've been writing these for years for little more remuneration than the occasional sweaty handjob from a Fat! office intern at the end of another grindingly weary evening of manning the merchandise stall at one of our club nights. It's pay back time.


We accept cheques, postal orders, IOUs, loose change and vague promises of carnal fulfillment to the usual address. We're waiting for your call.


Don't have nightmares.


Fat! x

fat@thefatclub.com

great writing as always - and so true in so many ways.

Surely CtF will find another venue?