What better way to mark the arrival of our 10th anniversary than by crafting an overblown, self-indulgent, self-referencing load of self-aggrandising noise? Well, loads of better ways, probably, to be honest …
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.
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.
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!
We’d like to take the opportunity whilst announcing our brand new song to reassure our friends and relatives that this song is not, in ANY way, about you … unless, of course, you don’t share it, in which case it is TOTALLY about you.
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.
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?
Crikey! Blimey! We’re doing one of those gig things again! It’s been a while, so if you’re in Plymouth on October 19th and want to see us shake off the rust, why not come down to Rock Bottom Bar on Drake Circus and check us out?
Even if one is lucky enough to find a working pen in the smouldering ruins of what used to be called America, future historians will struggle to write anything more about this era beyond the simple words, “What the fuck happened there?!”
I am undefeated king of political dance floor; no matter what record I spin, everyone boogies to my tune, and when light hit mirror ball it throw off rays of Novichok in every direction. Turn up music, let hair down! Welcome Club Vlad!
I used to have a blog once, better than this, I can tell you. Full of words, so many words, just the best. Millions of visitors, people commenting, free to say whatever, and they all said it was great. This blog and song are failing, believe me!