Death comes for us all (a melodramatic haiku of retirement)
Alas! this blog is
no longer where it is at.
Onwards! (Back to home.)



guts and garters

It's all fun and games until someone loses molecular cohesion.

Saturday, August 19, 2000

Sitting around all afternoon attempting to finish Foucault's Pendulum (DAMN, it's getting good!) and listening to the pathetically crap band playing at the after-Ball recovery at the college next door, I have formulated the following edict:

Come the RevolutionTM:
  1. Bands will need a Certificate of Competance before being permitted to even attempt to play Beastie Boys.
  2. Males attempting to sing the female parts in dance songs (ala Bust a Move) or any song by the Bangles will have their testicles removed in an effort to improve their performance. (Yes, this goes for you too, Human Nature.)
  3. The Constitution will state firmly that the lead guitar must always be turned up louder than the bass.
  4. Fuckwits in utes will be shot on sight. (For Americans and other non-Australians, a ute is a 'utility vehicle' corresponding roughly to an American truck, I think. Basically, it is what Aussie farmers (usually of sheep) use to get around their properties. It has a cabin, usually seating two, occasionall (and pretentiously) seating four or five and a tray on the back, in which you usually put hay and your compliant children. People driving them anywhere with a population of more than 20 are redneck hicks and have an annoying tendency to perform donuts on any available grassed area, especially in the middle of the night.)

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home