Meatloaf And The Armies of the Living Dead vs The Evil Empire Of Dracula And His Briny Horde: The Musical
Evening chaps.
So, got the Trogdor tune mastered and stuff. Then we created an amazing symphony of feedback and scratching, as well as a few messes. A second version of Trogdor was recorded, including a mindblowing 6 minute and 33 seconds scream acapella consisting mostly of idle chatter and prototypes of an upcoming track entitled 'Masturbation'. Then today, after a horrificalamatasticamagorically bad maths exam, I strolled down the studio to discover... ! Some dickbum assface shitpuppet monkeyturd had nicked the cart from one of the turntables, and the studio was now Off Limits. It was the one on the deck we never ever touched, so we're in the clear, although the people we suspect did the thieving nicely dropped us in it so we look guilty. Faggots. Plus we got two complaints about the screaming n shit so we're not in the world's good books. Oh well.
The rest of the day was the normal hypermediocrity, me and mates decided to linger around the exam hall for a couple of hours after maths so we could turn up to Physics seventy-five minutes late, y'know, just to be cool. I yet again forgot to go out and buy a good cable for me turntable -> PC link, and now it's all dark and cold and dark and shops are shut and that. Me teeny digicam finally went flat after 8 days. Another Computing mock exam, the only one I'm confident at. Finally got a Physics revision book like everyone else after pestering the teacher for ages and ages. I say a book, I mean 90 sheets of photocopied book. Lamer. This blog entry is crap, I really need a good subject to eloquently rant about and be funny. Mail me heare, but don't spam me or you'll die. Not right away, maybe not even in this decade, but eventually, one day, you'll die, lying in a nursing home at the incontinent old age of 128 when your ole ticker gives out, or when you're hit by a bus playing American 'Football' on the M25 next week, or when your plane goes down after being hit by a neurotic turkey on LSD when you're on your weekly commute to Surrey selling nuclear-powered vacuum cleaners to elderly women in 2023, or even when an industrial accident in the sweatshop into which you were born into bondage severs your limbs so you can no longer shovel cheap American greaseburgers into your face any more so you die of hunger on the hot Martian desert as vultures with those awesome astronaut helmets with gold visors that are like totally bling circle you waiting to feast on your bloated corpse except when they take off their helmets to eat their heads explode like lightbulbs in a microwave except with more gore and meaty chunks and shit, well then you'll think bugger, I shouldn't have spammed him. Now I've given you the chance to make that decision again, this timke don't spam and you wont die. Well, you will, but you won't feel so bad about it now. Well, you will feel bad about it cos you'll be dead, but y'know. Whatever.
PS: TROGDOOOOOOOOOOOOORRR.
So, got the Trogdor tune mastered and stuff. Then we created an amazing symphony of feedback and scratching, as well as a few messes. A second version of Trogdor was recorded, including a mindblowing 6 minute and 33 seconds scream acapella consisting mostly of idle chatter and prototypes of an upcoming track entitled 'Masturbation'. Then today, after a horrificalamatasticamagorically bad maths exam, I strolled down the studio to discover... ! Some dickbum assface shitpuppet monkeyturd had nicked the cart from one of the turntables, and the studio was now Off Limits. It was the one on the deck we never ever touched, so we're in the clear, although the people we suspect did the thieving nicely dropped us in it so we look guilty. Faggots. Plus we got two complaints about the screaming n shit so we're not in the world's good books. Oh well.
The rest of the day was the normal hypermediocrity, me and mates decided to linger around the exam hall for a couple of hours after maths so we could turn up to Physics seventy-five minutes late, y'know, just to be cool. I yet again forgot to go out and buy a good cable for me turntable -> PC link, and now it's all dark and cold and dark and shops are shut and that. Me teeny digicam finally went flat after 8 days. Another Computing mock exam, the only one I'm confident at. Finally got a Physics revision book like everyone else after pestering the teacher for ages and ages. I say a book, I mean 90 sheets of photocopied book. Lamer. This blog entry is crap, I really need a good subject to eloquently rant about and be funny. Mail me heare, but don't spam me or you'll die. Not right away, maybe not even in this decade, but eventually, one day, you'll die, lying in a nursing home at the incontinent old age of 128 when your ole ticker gives out, or when you're hit by a bus playing American 'Football' on the M25 next week, or when your plane goes down after being hit by a neurotic turkey on LSD when you're on your weekly commute to Surrey selling nuclear-powered vacuum cleaners to elderly women in 2023, or even when an industrial accident in the sweatshop into which you were born into bondage severs your limbs so you can no longer shovel cheap American greaseburgers into your face any more so you die of hunger on the hot Martian desert as vultures with those awesome astronaut helmets with gold visors that are like totally bling circle you waiting to feast on your bloated corpse except when they take off their helmets to eat their heads explode like lightbulbs in a microwave except with more gore and meaty chunks and shit, well then you'll think bugger, I shouldn't have spammed him. Now I've given you the chance to make that decision again, this timke don't spam and you wont die. Well, you will, but you won't feel so bad about it now. Well, you will feel bad about it cos you'll be dead, but y'know. Whatever.
PS: TROGDOOOOOOOOOOOOORRR.
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