Kiss the Fist...

If you're free on Thursday evening, then we're doing a little bit of Djing at the London Fields boozer in Hackney. Kiss the Fist is all about vests and hi-nrg. Whether any of us will be wearing one on the eve in question is a moot point but you can keep your fingers crossed...

You can check our first forays into the murky world of podcasting down below... We're hoping to polish the banter as even having a burn half way through didn't exactly get the vibes growing... Although the tunes are hype. Expect big music and sloppy mixing (on my part anyhoo).

Yippe-ki-yay motherfuckers...

Kiss the Fist

Hip hop and you don't stop. Ever.

The weekend was drunken. Like very sozzled, soused, too pissed, too drunk.

I'm not proud to confess I visited the 'Chicken man' at the bottom of our road on consecutive nights - on the first occasion I was too shitfaced to even eat the disgusting pizza and 4 hot wings I ordered, instead opting to fall asleep on the sofa fully clothed like a tramp with no appetite. Critics would suggest heating up said dishes for breakfast but the former resembled road kill with a bread base and extra olives. Yum.

The second time was slightly more dignified - I managed to successfully stay awake while ramming 8 hot wings down my gob in the street. A tactic to help avoid becoming all comatose on our couch with uneaten fodder on me lap.

However, Saturday prior to the wings binge was pure laddish class - a daring bike ride across the smoke to procure some acid 12s before getting wifebeatered up in an east end boozer. This was followed by accepting honey from a stranger in the street (real bee business - not poontag) and then a lengthy blaze up featuring a collection of hip hop's biggest hits.

It was the sort of behaviour I wish I'd indulged in when I was 18 rather than 28. As a teenager this would have been considered the coolest look ever. Now I'm not so sure. Big tunes though and fuck you if you disagree...



















Props to C-weezey for the playlist. Almost too much