The Session Pixies #14

In #rabble14, Blog, Print Editionby rabbleLeave a Comment

Taking a break from the post Tobacco Control Law lifestyle of scouring cigarette machines in suburban boozers for the last of the fabled 12.5 boxes of Amber Leaf, the Session Pixies return to rabble HQ to answer your whines and moans.

Dear Session Pixies,

The summer festival season has rendered my financial situation entirely destitute. I tried my best to minimise costs through cutting out unnecessary expenses such as shower gel, fag filters and most meals (my perpetually spangled state was a great help in implementing this new diet). But there’s an underground techno festival coming up in Gdansk that I just HAVE to make it to. Do you have any handy money-making tips that might work in the short-term?

Humbly yours,

Greedy Money Cat

Well Mr. Money Cat we can only sympathise with your current situation. Those few moments of dread as you approach the ATM machine to check the now much depleted balance is something we’ve all experienced. Any responsible confidant would tell you to quit your philandering ways, buck up, and fly straight for fuck sakes. But that’s not us. We advise that you fish around your apartment for all those old, empty and now discontinued 12.5g bags of Amber Leaf.

Invest in a few kilos of some cheap Aldi tobacco and proceed to pack and reseal said tobacco in the Amber Leaf pouches. These can then be pedalled for an extortionate price to your fellow sesh heads who will be only too happy to pay-up – just for nostalgia’s sake.

Jordan Belfort aint got shit on us, son.

Yours, The Session Pixies.



C’mer t’me

So I was there skullin cans on the Canal the other day with the Missus and the wayen. Sun was out, people were laughin, everyone was havin’ a good time, ya know. But sure then didn’t I get pure locked and (sniffles with hands up to his eyes), and now I can’t even find me wife and kid! They’re lost! Have ya seen ‘em? Have ya? Nah? Can ya spare us a fag and some cans instead then?

Beseechingly yours,

Some Greetin’ Cunt


Here I know you!

You’re the prick that told me the exact same sob-story that one nice weekend back in June. You owe me 2 cans of Grolsch ya wee bollocks.

Yours, The Session Pixies.



Dear Session Pixies,

From whence you came?


Curious Orange

Ah so ya want the Session Pixie origin story is it? Well to be perfectly honest with ya the accounts vary. Some say we magically manifested from a puddle of Christy Moore’s sweat that accumulated on the floor during a session in Lisdoonvarna in 1982.

Other sources suggest that we are what happened when Lindsey Lohan accidently sat on a cum stain left behind by Charlie Sheen at a particularly debauched L.A loft party.

Incidentally, the marketing departments of various tobacco and beer companies have tried to claim us as their own invention in an attempt to appeal to a younger audience.

We are currently pursuing these companies for image-rights violations (court proceeding prevent us for commenting further on this matter). The true answer remains a mystery even to us, but we have ordered one of those home genealogical kits ya see advertised on the telly and we’ll make sure to inform you of the results.

Yours, The Session Pixies.

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