Have I mentioned that my blog is under threat from AI programs? I’m afraid that they are operated by a spotty teenager who’s bored of Geek Retreat and wants to ruin my esteemed, high-profile, renowned reputation by posting his ex-girlfriend’s own slash metal videos on here.
The US big boys play slash metal music to Guantanamo prisoners to make them believe in the Devil of the West. Don’t ask me why. A little birdie tells me its fear driven. My mate told me – who happens to be a slash metal band. You should see him, he’s a one man mosh pit.
His tattoos read HELL above one eyebrow and YEAH above the other.
It’s an endearing attribute, being able to go headbanging alone in a room with music rhythms you both love and adore. When was the last time you danced? Or sang loudly? Both great for feel-good chemicals in the brain. Recommended enthusiastically. I do both every day.
I sing along to hymns and carols jubilantly in church twice on Sunday, but there’s an elderly gentleman from the Jigsaw Puzzle Club who’s made it his purpose in life to sing louder than me.
He’s all about ‘m e l i s m a’, which means multiple notes per syllable, and something I am helplessly jealous of, because I’ve been listening to Swedish Symphonic frontmen who I emulate do it for years.
He’s had vocal lessons at a music academy, whereas I’ve had a chorus button on a Casio keyboard.
I can’t be having that, as I’m there to impress the grab-a-grannies who female-back us both from the cold pews at the back, so I’ll have to have him kneecapped and shifted out of the way for a season, so I can get into some of the old-timers giant-sized knickers. Some people don’t find big knickers raunchy but I like them, in case the oven gloves for the bin-lid pizza go missing.
Teddy Ratbone from the arse’end of the estate will shoot anyone for three hundred notes hard cash down payment, no questions argumented about. He’s done it twice already. Once with Rodger The Bullet Dodger, who survived because, get this, ‘he turned on a tanner and ducked at the same time’, hence his name, and the other with Moschino Alice, who has COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease), and received a punctured lung with ‘terminal precision’, in Ratbone’s own words. He called her a big titted cowbag for her trouble.
There’s been quite a few murders on my estate, since I’ve lived here. Maybe I’ll tell you about them on another occasion.
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