Burnt Toast is an Independent Listings magazine and is not affiliated with any particular Venues. We also try our best to promote gigs put on by independent promoters (especially those with a DIY ethos).
The best way to submit a gig listing to us is by emailing...
Ben
E: dwaingibson@yahoo.co.uk
Please include (preferably in this order)
Date:
Promoter:
Headline Band:
Support:
Venue:
Price:
Gig description: (We usually print around 100 - 200 words per gig and the more creative the better, full band biographies are no good. Remember we are a magazine dedicated invigorating Leeds music scene with new blood, elitist tripe is usually a bad idea!)
Plus links to Facebook events / Myspace pages etc...
Friday, 27 November 2009
Advertise With Us
If you are interested in Advertising in Burnt Toast, please contact...
Adam Nodwell
T: 07793237773
E: a.nodwell@googlemail.com
Burnt Toast's current circulation is 5000 distributed in various Shops, Bars, Night Clubs & Cafes around Leeds. The size of the publication depends on the amount of funding and content from month to month but will usually be an A3 document folded to A6.
Adam Nodwell
T: 07793237773
E: a.nodwell@googlemail.com
Burnt Toast's current circulation is 5000 distributed in various Shops, Bars, Night Clubs & Cafes around Leeds. The size of the publication depends on the amount of funding and content from month to month but will usually be an A3 document folded to A6.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Burnt Toast Issue 9 OUT NOW
Burnt Toast 9 should hit the shelves in a few days time, in the meantime here is a downloadable easy to read PDF version. Click on the two lovely chaps above.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Tobias Green - Adventures of an Average Man - Part Two
Pitying pinkies adroitly acquainted with indulgence? A punted melon? A rain shield swirled with candour? Peepers pugnaciously pitted for pleasure? How does one best harm a man…
Tobias Green woke red and tender and horrible on a makeshift gurney in a nameless ward of what smelled like St. Ignatius’ General Hospital. He swiftly ascertained that as an average man he had to go through trauma of monolithic proportions at some point in his life, and he hoped - logarithms hard - that this was said solid point.
Perhaps this was hell?
Perhaps this was the afterlife?
Through scored sclerotic coats he could make out the hues of the lower classes, bedecked in tawdry mechanical materials, stained in vomit, ash and saturated fats. Through wet bandages that obfuscated his noggin rang musical monstrosities carried high in manky bludgeoning mitts.
Through tubular tributaries trumped a troublesome husk, sashaying behind the niggardly nurse. A capricious summer zephyr signalling certitude seized the stank. It was no longer his birthday and this was not the malodorous afterlife.
Being an average man and therefore able to utilise the faculties of an everyday person, Tobias’ brain clutched and lurched before slipping into a low gear suitable for conquering inclines.
‘One two three four five six seven…’
All fingers and thumbs were in place.
‘One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven…’
Toothy pegs present and correct.
‘One two three…’
Little piggies were at home.
All seemed well. The cacophonous peeling in his ears would pass in time. Time... Time had become disposable. The breeze alluded to too many turns of the kitty cat kitchen calendar for sense to prevail. As an average man, Tobias began to rationalise all that had taken place.
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
Rational had been re-accommodated.
Now sleep.
When Tobias woke he discovered two things: Number ONE - he was no longer prostrate. Number TWO - his anus was particularly cold. Subsequent superciliousness needed abating. Rational required recovery.
‘A gentle jolt to begin with…’
It was white and rounded and pleasing. Surely nothing white and rounded and pleasing could result in reticent ramifications? Marshmallows and cotton balls: White and rounded and pleasing. It would be the right thing to do. A restart. He arched his head back and wrenched it forward against the thing that promised to be white and rounded and pleasing…
Waking at some section of the future, maybe a near present, Tobias was delighted to discover reams of rational had returned. Lifting the remainder of his face from perhaps 11 percent of his oxygenated haemoglobin, he rose wearily to find a smashed Saibot surveying the damage. They instinctively looked down at what was no longer white and rounded and pleasing and twisted its taps for freshness. The Fuzzy Wuzzy brown and red water swirled and cajoled the plughole into a gregarious gurgle. The childish burps made the sore man smile.
“Mon, you! Hur’rup! Do’er biz’niz! Geddit done! Mon! Gee’shush fug! Been’ages! Fugkin Chreest! Fugkin 9 min-nuts! Gerrout th’shitter! Fugkin spaaaaa!”
Being an average man with Public School perspicacity, Tobias was mesmerised by the invisible ruffian’s attempt at the Queen’s English. He sounded like a Scotsman. A hard-handed, hard drinking, hard headed, hard healed Scotsman… or maybe some other sort of Celt. What did this malcontent’s mumblings mean? Tobias removed the crimson mulch bandage from its perch and brought sidekick Saibot in on the investigation.
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
A mark which could only be described as a…
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
“Fugkin Chreest! Ne’ra shite! Fugk sake! Jeshush fugk! Spakka coont!”
Tobias rolled his shoulders as he laughed, getting high from the swirling and twirling of soft grey matter. The ostentatious mark pulsed and spewed a fetid yellowy puss, turning Tobias’ train to his pump. As an average man he thought about it every 4 minutes, and as he had been sedated for at least a day and maybe 20, Tobias summated that his warm stiff friend would be in desperate need of milking.
Being an average man with undeniably common arousal levels, the Celt’s crusade on the door was the suitable spark to drag Tobias’ mind through an Amsterdam gutter. He closed his eyes, thrust down his linens and waited for the inevitable explosion… The banging of fists became the reverberating firm naked buttocks of an averagely attractive woman. The horribly enunciated swears became the incoherent speech of ecstatic pleasure Tobias’ part provided her. The woman’s very nice breasts with normal nipples were rubbing against his battered face. She was licking and kissing and groaning and moaning and…
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
Tobias returned to the light, tilted down and looked it in the eye. It was depressed and soft and cold. He blinked and looked to Saibot for help, but his backwards brother was similarly stumped. They flicked it in unison but to no response. It dangled low and shed a single tear, no more no less. This was far from average for this particular average man. Never before had he invented a more lurid sexual situation than that of the averagely attractive woman, breasts on display, being sired against a door.
“Check the ceiling…”
Often the private surges were so great the thick liquid clung to high objects beyond the reach of any average man and would require an extendable mop for cleansing. This expulsion was clearly so rapid as to render the speed-of-light an antiquated measurement of travel. Tobias breathed deeply, causing every rib in his body to shudder and wince, and smiled. As an average man, Tobias had played Hide and Seek for more than 1000 hours in his lifetime, so locating strands from his very own body in a confined space would be a mere formality.
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
There were no self-made strands to be found, high or low. There was the globular crimson puddle on the floor. There was the soiled bandage. There was toilet paper. There was the…
SMASH
Oh dear.
The Celt had conquered the door.
The Celt was taller than average men and stronger than all but a few.
The Celt had no teeth in his smile.
The Celt was missing an entire eye.
The Celt wore boots so tough his toes were safe from elephants, be they Indian or African.
The Celt arced tangerine urine on Tobias’ wounds.
There was a lot for such an average man to consider…
Ray Kane
Tobias Green woke red and tender and horrible on a makeshift gurney in a nameless ward of what smelled like St. Ignatius’ General Hospital. He swiftly ascertained that as an average man he had to go through trauma of monolithic proportions at some point in his life, and he hoped - logarithms hard - that this was said solid point.
Perhaps this was hell?
Perhaps this was the afterlife?
Through scored sclerotic coats he could make out the hues of the lower classes, bedecked in tawdry mechanical materials, stained in vomit, ash and saturated fats. Through wet bandages that obfuscated his noggin rang musical monstrosities carried high in manky bludgeoning mitts.
Through tubular tributaries trumped a troublesome husk, sashaying behind the niggardly nurse. A capricious summer zephyr signalling certitude seized the stank. It was no longer his birthday and this was not the malodorous afterlife.
Being an average man and therefore able to utilise the faculties of an everyday person, Tobias’ brain clutched and lurched before slipping into a low gear suitable for conquering inclines.
‘One two three four five six seven…’
All fingers and thumbs were in place.
‘One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven…’
Toothy pegs present and correct.
‘One two three…’
Little piggies were at home.
All seemed well. The cacophonous peeling in his ears would pass in time. Time... Time had become disposable. The breeze alluded to too many turns of the kitty cat kitchen calendar for sense to prevail. As an average man, Tobias began to rationalise all that had taken place.
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
Rational had been re-accommodated.
Now sleep.
When Tobias woke he discovered two things: Number ONE - he was no longer prostrate. Number TWO - his anus was particularly cold. Subsequent superciliousness needed abating. Rational required recovery.
‘A gentle jolt to begin with…’
It was white and rounded and pleasing. Surely nothing white and rounded and pleasing could result in reticent ramifications? Marshmallows and cotton balls: White and rounded and pleasing. It would be the right thing to do. A restart. He arched his head back and wrenched it forward against the thing that promised to be white and rounded and pleasing…
Waking at some section of the future, maybe a near present, Tobias was delighted to discover reams of rational had returned. Lifting the remainder of his face from perhaps 11 percent of his oxygenated haemoglobin, he rose wearily to find a smashed Saibot surveying the damage. They instinctively looked down at what was no longer white and rounded and pleasing and twisted its taps for freshness. The Fuzzy Wuzzy brown and red water swirled and cajoled the plughole into a gregarious gurgle. The childish burps made the sore man smile.
“Mon, you! Hur’rup! Do’er biz’niz! Geddit done! Mon! Gee’shush fug! Been’ages! Fugkin Chreest! Fugkin 9 min-nuts! Gerrout th’shitter! Fugkin spaaaaa!”
Being an average man with Public School perspicacity, Tobias was mesmerised by the invisible ruffian’s attempt at the Queen’s English. He sounded like a Scotsman. A hard-handed, hard drinking, hard headed, hard healed Scotsman… or maybe some other sort of Celt. What did this malcontent’s mumblings mean? Tobias removed the crimson mulch bandage from its perch and brought sidekick Saibot in on the investigation.
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
A mark which could only be described as a…
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
“Fugkin Chreest! Ne’ra shite! Fugk sake! Jeshush fugk! Spakka coont!”
Tobias rolled his shoulders as he laughed, getting high from the swirling and twirling of soft grey matter. The ostentatious mark pulsed and spewed a fetid yellowy puss, turning Tobias’ train to his pump. As an average man he thought about it every 4 minutes, and as he had been sedated for at least a day and maybe 20, Tobias summated that his warm stiff friend would be in desperate need of milking.
Being an average man with undeniably common arousal levels, the Celt’s crusade on the door was the suitable spark to drag Tobias’ mind through an Amsterdam gutter. He closed his eyes, thrust down his linens and waited for the inevitable explosion… The banging of fists became the reverberating firm naked buttocks of an averagely attractive woman. The horribly enunciated swears became the incoherent speech of ecstatic pleasure Tobias’ part provided her. The woman’s very nice breasts with normal nipples were rubbing against his battered face. She was licking and kissing and groaning and moaning and…
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
Tobias returned to the light, tilted down and looked it in the eye. It was depressed and soft and cold. He blinked and looked to Saibot for help, but his backwards brother was similarly stumped. They flicked it in unison but to no response. It dangled low and shed a single tear, no more no less. This was far from average for this particular average man. Never before had he invented a more lurid sexual situation than that of the averagely attractive woman, breasts on display, being sired against a door.
“Check the ceiling…”
Often the private surges were so great the thick liquid clung to high objects beyond the reach of any average man and would require an extendable mop for cleansing. This expulsion was clearly so rapid as to render the speed-of-light an antiquated measurement of travel. Tobias breathed deeply, causing every rib in his body to shudder and wince, and smiled. As an average man, Tobias had played Hide and Seek for more than 1000 hours in his lifetime, so locating strands from his very own body in a confined space would be a mere formality.
BLATTER BLATTER BLATTER THUMP BANG
Hmm.
The strangest thing…
There were no self-made strands to be found, high or low. There was the globular crimson puddle on the floor. There was the soiled bandage. There was toilet paper. There was the…
SMASH
Oh dear.
The Celt had conquered the door.
The Celt was taller than average men and stronger than all but a few.
The Celt had no teeth in his smile.
The Celt was missing an entire eye.
The Celt wore boots so tough his toes were safe from elephants, be they Indian or African.
The Celt arced tangerine urine on Tobias’ wounds.
There was a lot for such an average man to consider…
Ray Kane
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