It’s said the only certainties in life are death and taxes, but what about sickness, suffering, solitude, and the fact that your favourite show will always be cancelled while “Mrs Brown’s Boys” gets another shitting series?
Are we there, yet? We’re bored, tired, and the only thing keeping us from leaping out is the fact that we’re travelling at 117mph. Well, that and the bloody child locks are on. I swear, if this isn’t over soon, words will be had. Rude ones.
So, it seems we’re pretty fucked, right? Well, at least we’ll always have Christmas to enjoy, yeah? I guess it depends if your definition of enjoyment includes scrabbling in a ditch for road kill and rotting berries to make your dinner with.
Look, we know that we’ve been away for a few months, but we’ve got a REALLY good excuse and, while we are loathe to play the organ failure card, we do have to say: ORGAN FAILURE. Unexpected, moderately inconvenient, dropped-out-of-the-sky organ failure.
After a whole year of being wound up, stressed out, and pissed off by colleagues who thwart your sanity (especially that git who nicks your stapler), how better to relieve the tension than by getting chaotically drunk with the bastards?
The nights draw in. The chill starts to bite. It can only mean one thing … that for the next month we’re going to be repeatedly sprayed in the face with the omni-directional vomit cannon of Christmas advertising.
They are often referred to as the “thin blue line”, although many have implied over the years that the line might in fact be somewhat thicker. Not us, of course … we’d never stoop to making such a crass insinuation.
It is often said that Christmas is a time for peace on Earth, and goodwill to all, but it seems that neither the year itself (or a substantial number of people living in it) have actually gotten that message.
Hey, kids! Stop snogging, and pay attention to me! ‘Cause if you’re a wild-eyed loner standing at the gates of oblivion, then hitch a ride with us … this really IS the last freedom moped out of Nowhere City. Don’t tell your parents!
Journey with us to a decade of flared trousers, energy crises, and cocaine abuse as we bring you our very first song; “Disco Bitch”, the tale of a dancer with a serious attitude problem and a callous disregard for nightclub etiquette.
It’s said the only certainties in life are death and taxes, but what about sickness, suffering, solitude, and the fact that your favourite show will always be cancelled while “Mrs Brown’s Boys” gets another shitting series?
Are we there, yet? We’re bored, tired, and the only thing keeping us from leaping out is the fact that we’re travelling at 117mph. Well, that and the bloody child locks are on. I swear, if this isn’t over soon, words will be had. Rude ones.
Are you lonesome tonight? Are restrictions too tight? Is the lockdown just driving you mad? Have you stuffed yourself full? Bored right out of your skull? Have you lost whatever grip that you had? Don’t worry. You’re not alone.
You know what it’s like. It’s Christmas, you’re a bit drunk, you’ve had buggered organs for nine months, and you start getting sentimental about one of the best friendships you’ve ever had and wondering how much time you have left …
So, it seems we’re pretty fucked, right? Well, at least we’ll always have Christmas to enjoy, yeah? I guess it depends if your definition of enjoyment includes scrabbling in a ditch for road kill and rotting berries to make your dinner with.