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from 'Wicked Beyond Belief - The Hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper'
From September 19th to November 29th 2008 I was touring with
my 'Men with beards (what are they hiding?)' e.p.
There was a limited edition beards tour t-shirt.
There’s none left - even my one got stolen (I suspect by a man with a beard)
For the duration of this tour I resolved not to shave, hoping by the end of it I would
have gained a unique insight into the confusing world of beards, the likes of which
adorn not only the face of the bravest and most revered of English heroes, such as
Sir Walter Raleigh, Brian Blessed and Giant Haystacks but some of the most unhinged
sociopaths like Gary Glitter, Harold Shipman and Noel Edmonds.

Alas my plans for a big proud beard were shot to shit as is documented below in my
shoddily shoved together weekly 'beardblog' which I wrote while on tour...
BEARDBLOG1 - 6 days growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my catchy song
"men with beards" and its accompanying humorous video i have been trying to take a trip into the
mind of a beardy.
rather than go down the library and get a book out about the psychology of chaps with face fuzz i
though it'd have a go at growing one meself. in the past i have always been rubbish at growing
beards. as i have previously said, last time i tried it looked like a 14 year old schoolboy's bumfluff,
like i'd covered me face in pritt stick and gone down on gail porter.
so last friday before the start of our "men with beards" tour i had a shave and set off for the first
gig in harlow. it was really good, the public liked my smooth face and teenage girls found my boyish good
looks sexually attractive. six days have passed and i have patchy stubble. it looks like i'm sucking a
magnet and someone's thrown a handful of iron filings at me.
catching a glimpse of myself in a hall of mirrors the other day i was forced to concede that i looked a
bit like handsome but troubled druggy pop poof george michael. before i knew it i found myself stood at a
urinal in a public toilet on hampstead heath simultaneously sniffing poppers and playing with my front bottom
whilst trying to establish eye contact with any chap that came in. curse this facial hair, we're only one
week in and i have already been arrested in a spliff induced coma in my ford fiesta.
there's still two months to go, i wonder what other japes lay ahead...
BEARDBLOG2 - 2 weeks growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my catchy song
"men with beards" and its accompanying humorous video i have been trying to take a trip into the
mind of a beardy by growing my own chin minge.

at 2 weeks growth i have started to look like an alcoholic vagrant. the other day i found myself sat
outside the basildon BP with 4 cans of super in a blue carrier bag asking motorists if they could spare
any change and calling them cunts if they wouldn't give us anything. then i went through some bins and
found half a BLT which i had for supper.
yesterday i was trying to get a bit of kip on a bench in gloucester park when i was happy slapped by a
group of teenage scrotes who then returned half an hour later and tried to set fire to me.
last night i slept in a shop doorway and i woke up having shit myself but i didn't even notice until it dried
up later and got itchy.
i am currently sat in a puddle of freezing piss staring at women walking by while rubbing my helmet vigorously.

hopefully see yer at one of the gigs if we haven't died of hypothermia by then
with mike strutter at chins in southend.
he thought my attempt at a beard made me look like a motherfuckin cocksucker
with my beard mentor, sinclair from the flavours.
he is teaching me the way of the beard, next week we're going to do stalking women
BEARDBLOG3 - 3 weeks growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my acclaimed song
"men with beards (what are they hiding?)" and its accompanying jocular video i have been trying to immerse
myself in the seedy world of beards by cultivating my own face fungus.
this week my bearded mentor sinclair from the flavours lent me his handbook
on how to use my beard to stalk ladies.
i got all kitted out in my camouflage gear and lurked around in the bushes in gloucester park, going there via
the offy where i bought a 4 pack of special brew. i sipped from my cans as i watched ladies walk past, some
walking their dogs, some in sports kit out for a jog and others just making their way across the park after work
or in their lunch break.
after downing a couple of cans and while concealed within said foliage i felt rather randy and had the urge to
free my erect penis from the constrains of my camo trousers and give it a jolly good tug.

as the day went on i took some photos on my phone from my hideout in the shrubs and later in the afternoon
i followed some of these ladies home, making a note of where they lived and taking more photos of them as
they got changed behind their net curtains. it was while partaking in this harmless activity that i was arrested
by some policemen who had themselves been carrying out a covert operation - on yours truly! i told them my
real name was paul gadd but this did not help matters. they seized my phone as evidence and came round my
house and took all my pictures and videos of carol vorderman away.
i told them my dad was phil collins from genesis but it made no difference.
they removed all my photos i had taken since i started growing my beard, even my harmless fancy dress ones

luckily i was let out in time for my northern gigs, where i had a very nice time. this was me in leeds:
BEARDBLOG4 - 4 weeks growth
My facial hair is still patchy as fuck, it looks like Simon Weston's pubes.

With the occasional distinguished grey gob-pube in among my sparse dark fuzz, I reminded myself of a
young John Virgo, if he had swapped his trademark maroon waistcoat for an urban camo jumpsuit, and his
snooker cue for a small deformed hand puppet that squeakily spouts sexual phrases.

For some reason though women are finding my crap attempt at a beard very arousing and at this week's
gigs I have been courting several offers from (admittedly plastered) young ladies who have been keen to
get some beard on beard action.
Unfortunately the first couple of young ladies were wearing period pants so like a young John Virgo,
I had to pot a red and a tricky brown then needed a rest to sink a long pink into the middle pocket before
whipping it out and jizzing on her knockers.

One big drawback of my burgeoning face fuzz was that I failed to see the monitor from behind my chinbush
when mounting the stage in Southampton and went arse over tit. Luckily the nice Mr. Summers caught it on
video camera and posted it up on Youtube…

While in Exeter I did an internet radio interview with two young men called Chris and Ollie who seemed intent
on getting me to talk about serial killers and kid fiddlers. In case they edit me unfairly I would like to state
right now that I DO NOT want to go for a beer with Ian Huntley, and even if I did I don't think we could get
him signed out to come for one anyway. And I WAS NOT impressed with what Fred West did, I was just trying
to stress if someone does a good job tiling my bathroom I don't care what they get up to in their spare time.
For those of you that are just joining us now, I have spent the last 5 weeks attempting to grow a beard to get
a glimpse into the psyche of bearded blokes.
Being a man in his thirties who is mature on so many other levels you would think that this would not present
a problem.
I was hoping by this stage that I would have a full on Sutcliffe-style murderbeard adorning my chin area but
unfortunately after 5 weeks it is still looking like a Fisher Price "My First Beard" kit.

This is me and my beard this week, with my amusing Travelodge room key...
Despite my uneven gob foliage I have again this week experienced an unusual amount of female attention.
I can only come to the conclusion that girls think I look really manly and maybe in my
faux-80s-asda-copy-england-kit remind them a bit of Peter Withe or Gary Birtles. In full kit I have been
told in the past that I'm actually more like Peter Crouch but without his good touch for a big man, although I
can do his spacky robot dance.

In Aberdeen I was lucky enough to meet one of my boyhood heroes, bung taking moustachioed former
Liverpool sticksman Bruce Grobelaar.
Let that be a lesson kids that cheats don't prosper. The former Anfield number one is scratching a living in a
working men's club as a potboy, and is no longer "rapping now... rapping for fun" but instead is forced to stand
on his hands while pissed Aberdonians chuck Scampi Fries and Cheese moments into his open gob, while
chanting "sex in yer mooth, sex in yer mooth"!

In Newcastle there was a big turnout from the "Barry Didn't Do it" campaign office.
and if she didn't live in London, I was gonna suggest, "All back to Burley's"

Lastly but not leastly, I played at painter John Lee Bird's "before encore" exhibition. He had painted me and
Little Kunt earlier this year, along with loads of other people, including the Boosh blokes and Jarvis Cockout.
Normally at any remotely highbrow shindigs I would expect to die on my arse and had no reason to suspect
Saturday would be any differerent but in actual fact it went really well, leaving me wondering whether there
might actually be some good vibes hidden among this embarrassing shock of fluff on the bottom half of
my fizzog.
Having not shaved since the start of our "Men with beards (what are they hiding?)" tour  on September 19th I am
starting to gain an insight into the world of beardy blokes.
As my mangey face hair has grown in clumps around my chops it has coincided with an increase in my sex drive,
so much so that I have had to start carrying a wankmag around in the glove box of my Ford Fiesta and am often to
be seen relieving myself in a layby in an attempt to stave off my winky's urges.
Having been at home this past week and playing localish gigs I have had a lot of time on my hands which I've tried
to fill with diversions to stop me thinking about ladies frontbottoms.
I did a bit of cash in hand work on my mate's building site and while bussing home from said job, still wearing the
regulation boiler suit, I noticed one of my laces was a bit frayed. One minute I struck a match and was bending down
at the back of the bus to burn off said errant threads from my trainer boot, the next I knew I was splayed out face
down in the aisle in an armlock, with a chaps knee pressed in my back.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted.
After much commotion it turned out someone on the bus had seen my sausage digits approaching my footwear
with a lit Swan Vesta and mistaken me for shoebomber Richard Reid. Then some sprightly have-a-go hero had
pounced on me before I could detonate me Hi-tecs!
Eventually they let me up at which point I explained I wasn't a terrorist but was in fact the popular singer, Kunt
from Kunt and the Gang, which led to much embarrassment and hilarity. Luckily we all saw the funny side and I
happily stayed there for ten minutes signing autographs and reciting amusing beard based anecdotes for
the passengers.
I have been growing this bastard beard for 7 weeks now.
There are still times when I forget though.
Then I catch sight of myself in a mirror and think, "why is that lanky twat with a patchy excuse for a
beard staring at me?"

The other night in Norwich played out like the 'guess the accident' bit in an episode of Casualty.
There's this big tall prick in an 80s tracksuit top whose going to be singing songs about wanking to a load of
drunk bastards in a venue.
Will he get electrocuted by a live wire in the sound system? No.
Will his vigorous dance movements lead to a bone sticking out his arm? No.
Will he get bottled by someone who doesn't like that kind of sexy language being used in front of his wife? No.
Oh look, here comes the accident. He's getting his bag down from a high ledge, and he's standing on one of
those bar benches - you know the kind, the kind that is about six foot long and always bolted to the wall.
Except this time it's not.

One minute I was stood with arms aloft reaching for my bag. The next minute there was a massive smash and
everyone looked round to see me laying in a heap on my back, arms and legs flailing around having taken out
two tables of glasses with me.
I got myself up and accepted the customary round of applause before limping into my dressing room.
When I wished the other day that I could get my fingers round a great big gash in my dressing room this wasn't
what I had in mind.

My shin had blood pissing out of it all over the place. I wrapped a bandage round it and hobbled round
the stage for 40 minutes. This is my gash 4 days later...
I blame my hairy chin-minge. It must have unbalanced me. This is an artist's impression of what happened...
Bunch of cunts.

I fear the strain that trying to grow this beard has placed on my body has affected my immune system.

Last weekend I was introduced to a baby who everytime it sneezed or coughed, farted and shat itself.
Needless to say because of my low immunity brought on by my body trying to fill out the patchy areas of
my gobflange I caught this terrible viral affliction and took it on tour with me last week.
In Nottingham I made one vigorous move during soundcheck and was presented with a pantful of bum mush.
I cleverly covered this up by saying through gritted teeth, "yep, that sounds fine." At which point I dashed to
the bogs to wipe and hid my soiled y-fronts above a tile in the suspended ceiling.
I fared a little better in Liverpool, making it as far as the star jumps on 'Carol Vorderman' before my arsehole
gave out a gravy cough.

Luckily this week I have had a week off to recuperate so I have spent most of the week on the sofa watching
Jeremy Kyle.
He's a proper fuckpig but I do like the way he goes all cockney when he's having a go at someone,
"Come on mate, if you weren't so spaced off your face on cannabis joints then you might be able to
bring up yer kid propahly!"

This week saw the end of the beardtour and, not before time, the end of my wafty beard.
Long gone were the days when women found it manly and attractive, and words that had been used to
describe it over the last few days included "unruly", "rancid" and "vagrant".
In our hotel after our Cardiff gig Little Kunt told me I'd given him stubble rash when I gave him a cuddle
in the night so I knew it was time for it to go...

It was taking over my personality and I started hearing a little voice telling me to kill prostitutes.
It may have just been Little Kunt but I did it just in case.
And so after dumping her off in a rolled up offcut of 70s carpet in a layby between Swansea and Bristol
I finished off the tour with gigs in Bristol and Deptford.
And so my bearded adventure drew to a close and I shaved the fucker off, going via a few well known
facial hairstyles as listed below.
Over the course of my tour and as my beard came to fruition I was taken under the wing of my bearded brethren
and learned many, many dark and disturbing bearded secrets. I entered a twisted and hairy underworld where
regular laws don't apply and the beard is lord and master of all. "So tell us all about it Kunt", I hear you say.
Alas I cannot. I dare not speak of it, or reveal that sometimes they use wax to cover the gaps twixt moustache
and beard, for fear that I will be smited by some hairy bastard with a pick axe handle. Suffice to say if you grow
a beard yourself I'm sure you will soon become aware of the seedy realm of chin minges. And for those of you
who can't grow one, because you are a female, or indeed a male who is not yet pubic, next time you pass a
bearded man in the street, feel free to say to them "That beard doesn't hide the fact you're a nonce",
although don't say that I told you to do it.
(answers at bottom of page)

1. Which former game for a laugh beardy had a tiny cock, but on the other hand it was massive?

2. Which bearded doctor rose to fame after finishing off over a hundred nans

3. Which controversial bearded muslim cleric, currently living in exile, is being allowed back at Christmas to
appear in panto in Peter Pan?

4. Which beardy glam rock paedo's name is sometimes used as rhyming slang for your poohole?

5. Which bearded envoy's allotment needed serious attention after he spent about 2 years chained to a radiator
in the middle east?

6. Which goatee wearing 80s pop gaylord is more famous these days for continually getting caught wanking off
in public toilets?

7. Which bearded poser has made a big TV comeback in the last couple of years after losing his primetime TV
show when a man died in his crinkly bottom?

8. Which goatee bearded wrongun and make pretend cousin of Freddie Mercury liked to wear SAS gear and
follow women around?

9. Which chinstrap bearded R&B twat met a girl on monday, took her for a drink on tuesday and according to
him fooked her the day after that?

10. Which bearded guitarist allegedly pioneered the 'windmill wank' as part of his so-called 'research' into
kids in the nude?

1.  The first recorded instance of a man with a beard is God.
It was a big white beard like uncle Albert off Only Fools and Horses.

2.  Bearded men have on average 50% more pubes than the regular male pubic bush,
unless of course they've shaved them off because it makes them feel sexy,
in which case they have on average 100% less.

3. Men who have a beard think of sex or sex acts once every 15 seconds.
50% of these thoughts are about unconsensual sex and half again end in murder.

4. The longest beard on record was owned by Angus J. Fraser of Dundee, Scotland.
His ginger face fuzz measured 8 metres in length and eventually prevented him
leaving his house, where he was fed on liquified haggis and milkshakes piped
into his gob through an intricate network of straws until he died from a
beard-related illness in 1978.

5. The only recorded instance of a baby with a beard was our Lord, Jesus H. Christ,
who was born out of his mum's previously unused sausage wallet on Christmas day
just over 2000 years ago.

6. Bearded men can sustain an erection on average 33% longer than their non-hirsute
counterparts, and can shoot their mess 14 cm further, a 1998 survey revealed.

7. Serial killing GP Harold Shipman was a consummate medical professional with an
impeccable record for over 30 years who only started despatching old biddies
after his misguided decision to grow a beard.

8. In some primitive Amazonian tribes bearded men's bollocks are seen as a delicacy.
They are boiled in the bag and served in the traditional way - with lettuce and
mayo in a bap. That bloke off BBC2's "Tribe" series ate one and said it tasted
a bit like chicken.

9. Bearded men get a semi-erection on average every 3 minutes and over half of
these instances lead to a full erection. Because of this over 50% of cuddles
with kids result in sexual abuse.

10. A 1998 survey revealed that 75% of bearded men are fucking their best friend's
wife behind their mate's back. Two thirds of them are doing her up the wrongun.

11. In China there is a hundred year old dog with a beard who predicts the future.
He foresaw the fall of the Berlin wall, the assasination of JFK and
Jade Goody's cunt cancer.

12. In the Democratic Republic of Congo beards have been outlawed since 1989 after
a renegade group of bearded black blokes tried to overthrow the government.
Anyone caught sporting more than 3mm growth is dragged into the town square and
waxed from head to toe before humiliating photos of their private parts wearing
sunglasses with a cigarette poking out the end, looking like they are on holiday
are taken and published in the local paper.

13. Glam rocker Gary Glitter was a consummate music industry professional with an
impeccable record for over 30 years who only started getting into online noncing
and subsequently diddling with asian kids after a misguided decision to grow
a small grey beard that looks a bit like your nan's minge.
1. Beadle
2. Harold Shipman
3. Abu Hamster
4. Gary Glitter (half a point for Paul Gadd - Chad)
5. Terry Waite
6. George Michael
7. Noel Edmonds
8. Barry George (will accept Bulsara)
9. Craig David
10. Pete Townshend from the Who