K-Hell records presents sixteen CDs of pure, intestine-knotting audio agony! Available now, only by mail order, direct to the very synapses of your poor, time-addled brain. 

You thought they wouldn’t find you, but here, in glorious, half mis-heard and mostly misremembered remastered recordings are such fine titles as: 

Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit, only it isn’t, Davy,, is it? It’s you with the Lynx trying to disguise those socks of yours you’ve been wearing for four days now.” 

Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares to You, and thank God, really, because any more than one of you and we’d probably all top ourselves.”  

M.C. Hammer’s belter, “U Can’t Touch This, always misheard as U Can’t Touch That, because of that unfortunate moment when the bedroom door wasn’t closed and you didn’t know mum was still in the house.” 

Plus the New Radicals’ (remember them? You thought you hadn’t until now!) “You get what you give, and you damn well did at the prom, didn’t you, when Rachel went off with Darren and left you with the chicken in a basket? Tasted better with tears, didn’t it? Didn’t it?” 

And the all-time great, Number 1 for at least four and a half years in your own carefully selected mélange of misery: 

Bryan Adams’ “Everything I do, I do it for you, but you never notice, do you? What do I have to do around here for you to notice? Oh, yeah, just watch the game, why don’t you? I bet if I left you wouldn’t notice? Shall we try that, eh? Shall we?” 

And many, many more. 

Cue the long list that goes by at comical speed, with every song title grabbing you by the balls for a quick squeeze until you notice the next and the next and the next. And how can all these bitter sweet symphonies be so awful? Are you the only person in the world who feels like this? Why not find out by sending us your CASH right now? 

Why would you want to Miss a Thing? Why do you get the feeling that’s all you ever did? 

Why wouldn’t you want to Bring it All Back? Think of it like a controlled experiment – at least this way you’re in charge of when and how these melodies and non-melodies hit you. 

And why not hit it, Baby, One More Time? Knowing that it’s likely to be several hundred more times and you might never escape any of it.  

Knowing that, for all it hurts sometimes, there’s part of you that doesn’t want to escape. 

Knowing that, you’ve got the music in you. 

So, prepare to once again hide under the duvet with your hands clapped over both ears as you sob gently to 380 tracks of the most distressingly Proustian tunes you wished your subconscious hadn’t been recording all that time so that it could play them back at random moments in your adult life, seemingly without warning. 

Please send cash, mail order, credit card, and/or the remaining slithers of your soul to 

K-Hell Records, the Ninth Circle, Just round the corner from that incident with Rachel and the chicken in the basket at the school prom, PO Box 1564. Worms, Nebraska. 

Hurry! This offer will only last for the rest of your life.         



Mike Hickman (@MikeHicWriter) is a writer from York, England. He has written for Off the Rock Productions (stage and audio), including 2018’s “Not So Funny Now” about Groucho Marx and Erin Fleming. He has recently been published in EllipsisZine, Dwelling Literary, Bandit Fiction, Nymphs, Flash Fiction Magazine, Brown Bag, and Red Fez. His co-written, completed six-part BBC radio sit com remains frustratingly as unproduced as it was the last time he updated this biography. So here it is, line by line (Part Two): “You used the mace – the House of Commons mace – as a broomstick??? You played your…special…version of Quidditch with the House of Commons mace?” “It usually gets a laugh.” “And did it?” “It got me thrown out.” “And where’s the mace now?” “You don’t want to know.”