It’s longer than The Princess And The Pea, but shorter than The Princess Bride. Oh, and it’s a bit sweary. Not for the faint-hearted.

There’s a preview of part of the book here in order to get your juices flowing. Oh, and another preview here!

It’s only £1.39 and right underneath this bit is the link to click on to order The Dead Princess Diaries.

You can cough up via Paypal and Google Checkout but if you haven’t got an account with either of them, go for Paypal and click where it says ‘Don’t have a Paypal account?’ – you can use pretty much any debit or credit card.

Once you’ve paid, you’ll be directed to a download page where you’ll get an epub file that should open on almost all eBook readers on smartphones. If you’d prefer a PDF of it or a mobi file (for Kindle), or have any other queries, email me.

[Direct link to video on YouTube]

The tracklisting is as follows.

1: Shobba Dobba

2: I Heard You Cackle

3: Stuck In A Ditch

4: Floor Song

5: Beef Curtains

6: Detective Of The Year

7: Gillian

8: Another Lonely Month Of Mondays

9: Give It Give It Give It (Don’t Give It)

10: My Infected Parrot And Me

11: Sizzlin’ Steak

12: Shobba Dobba (reprise)

The album is not available outside of the afterlife.

[via Factual Healing]

I’ve had a word with JC and he says it’s got fuck all to do with him. Furthermore, he pointed that out that the same family were touting their shitty lid around last May as well. Maybe they’re trying to plug a book or something…

About an hour ago she gave a slurred speech to anyone who would listen (Hendrix was there) about staying true to herself. Then she injected some horse tranquilisers into her eyeball. But it doesn’t even come close to being in among her worst moments up here…

• There was the time when she went into a bat-shit-mental frenzy over the fact that she was all set to get the lead role in Hannah Montana but she failed every single one of the 74 different wart tests required by Disney’s insurers.

• The time she catapulted herself over the 60 foot fence that surrounds the PopeZone in an attempt to “blow a Pontiff.” She got as far as persuading Sylvester III to listen to part of a Guns N Roses CD before the alarm went off – she got eight weeks in solitary for that.

• Then there was the time she filmed herself and Scatman John going at it like knives in a hot tub filled with trifle. She was trying to get Acorah or one of those fuckers to download it into their brain, then remake it on Earth and forward the proceeds to her kids. The fucking camera wasn’t even switched on.

• The ongoing shit storm between Anna Nicole and J. Howard Marshall. Obviously she couldn’t kill him again, but the poor bastard has been through the fucking mill in his attempts tried to win her back. She got him to finance her one woman show, which was just her kneeling in a Perspex box, dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard Of Oz, barking for two hours. It closed on the fourth night.

Happy deathday Anna Nicole!

Hopefully the bloke who found it can make a few quid selling postcards or souvenir tea towels with it on. Everyone wins – that’s Heaven for you!