swerve tweeter   -  Blog

-back from the dead to wish everyone a Happy New Year

In the time honoured tradition of plato himself, i invite all to taste the debacle that is special k and warrant that in no way can said breakfast cereal rid me of my rubber midrift. In fact ill go so far as to say my rubber midrift is of such a large and irksome state that it has signed a four album deal with k-tel to the end of bringing gut barge compilation v3 to the retail chain. I myself find this proposterous and have started legal proceedings with the best lawyer in ashby de la zouch, non other that quentin crisp the tastiest of all the lawyerettes. Together we can build a rootin tootin utopia with bus lanes in the sky and yuletide songs being ripped onto 8 track cartridges for the jet set of zebbedee to appreciate. All in all if Tony the tiger says gggrrreeeeeaaaaatttt regardless of situation then i would bust open my zephyr and yield to the jaffa biscuit of restitution.

 

.P.S.3.

If you multiply the amount of times youve mounted a pigmi and then add that to the times youve rightly or wrongly spat on a tramp. Square root the whole lot and youll come up with 82.4. Combine that with your the amount of wrinkles on your johnson and minus the time you fell over julia roberts bottom lip. And your magic number is 666.

 

Special brew what a drink! burp efluence etc

Well here we are in the middle of summer in England and its pissing down with rain so decided to do a tune. I seem to do my best stuff when the weather is bad. It makes me feel claustrophobic but in a creative way if that makes any sense.

On a cold dark night in mid England, a solitary church bell could be heard ringing in the nearby village. The only lights in the village were that of the local pub where all the patrons had gathered to celebrate the slaying of the beast.

Only 4 hours had gone by since the townsfolk had surrounded the Beasts lair, setting it on fire and the beast with it. Or so they had thought.

The wind in the hills made noises like the sound of a child crying, but somewhere underneath that sound could be heard a purring that became a growl that became a Roar. The pub fell silent and all the villagers shuddered with fear. As this was the sound that they thought had been vanquished. Rabid footfall could be heard getting closer and closer, until...............

I was the only survivor on that fateful night and i wrote this lullaby aptly titled Genocide.