THE RANDOM iPod SHUFFLE
Tearing The Guts Out A Man's Record Collection
16th March 2005
On a recent episode of Chris Morris’ latest TV venture, the
brilliantly snarky Nathan Barley, a newspaper editor waxes on
about what he’s gonna have in this week’s Sunday Supplement. One
of said incisive articles involves seeing what a prominent
politician has on his iPod.
We, the humble viewers, are invited for to snigger and to mourn.
Is this where culture has taken us? That the most important
thing we can conceive of writing about is what somebody might
have in their pocket for to listen to on the bus?
Well, sorry Chris Morris. I think you’re fucking great man. For
sure, I have those DVD’s of The Day Today and Brass Eye and Jam,
and I know some folks don’t like Barley, but I think it’s just
swell.
However, I’m also shallow and / or nosey enough to find myself
intrigued no-end by lists concerning songs plucked at random
from someone’s iPod.
Even if I can’t stand the individual in question, I still find
myself scanning through the list, looking to see what
insufferable crap they might have flung on there. Sometimes, I
find that maybe they’ve got something by The Nipple Erectors or
Selfish Cunt, and I find myself completely re-evaluating my
opinion on said individual.
No-one who has Corporate Slut on the playlist can be all bad,
surely.
Also, from a writing stand-point, it gives a scribbler a chance
for to scribble about stuff they may not otherwise get to
scribble about.
So, in the spirit of camaraderie and emotional emptiness, I
present the first instalment in a semi-regular feature by the
name of;
Stuff Thrown Up At Random By The Duke’s iPod.
So, with “Party Shuffle” selected, fifteen tracks get flung at
The Duke’s ear-drum holes. However, I present only the first ten.
All I Really Wanna Do – Bob Dylan
(Plucked from The Bootleg Series Volume 6)
The Dylan Bootleg Series albums are fantastic, is all there is
to it. Even if you already have the tracks in question, the
exceptional booklets and the remastered sound should be enough
for to tempt the pennies from out a fella’s fist.
This here track is from the sixth such release, being a 1964
Halloween concert at the Philharmonic Hall. It’s a totally
acoustic set, and Dylan is still playing the aw-shucks kid just
out for to entertain the folks in the seats. It’s a far cry from
the mysterious, stoned-to-blazes Dylan who pops up in the
Manchester Free Trade Hall concert from 66, also available as
part of this Bootleg Series (albeit under the name The “Albert
Hall” Concert).
This is one of the best versions of the song you’re likely to
encounter, possibly better even than the one that opens Another
Side Of Bob Dylan. And The Byrds did a mean cover, too.
Lyrically, it’s a load of old nonsense, and yet somehow
brilliant. It’s Dylan experimenting with the “language” and
such, and wrapping it up in the veil of the Love Song, except
it's not really a love song, truth be told.
“I ain’t lookin’ to compete with you,
Beat or cheat or mistreat you,
Simplify you, classify you,
Deny, defy or crucify you
All I really wanna do
Is baby, be friends with you”
The yodelled “All I really wanna doooooooooo” still gets a fella
giddy.
To Another Abyss – Bad Religion
(Plucked from The Empire Strikes First)
I haven’t given Bad Religion’s most recent record the attention
it deserves, is the crippling truth of it all. To be perfectly
honest, I couldn’t name you three tracks from it. This is no
indication of the worth of the album, though, just indicative of
the fact that The Duke has been listening to far too much
Lucinda Williams recently.
Anyhow, in this number, taken from that very Long Player, the
boys decide that really, they couldn’t care less about The
Economy or The Politics or Anything Much, and decide to spend
their time writing songs about girls and dope.
Cunningly, however, they present it in the form of an anti-war,
anti-bush number with sundry references to The Economy and The
Politics and the Anything Much.
It’s as melodic as ever, and as angry, but the production does
feel a tad weak. Those harmonies, though. A man would trade a
kidney for that kinda wonder.
Joan Crawford – Derek And Clive
(Plucked from Come Again)
From Pete & Dud’s wonderfully filthy second record, Come Again,
this here is a marvellous tale concerning Clive’s adventures in
Joan Crawford’s hoo-hah.
“Up Joan Crawford’s cunt there are fucking fleets of ships,
light aircraft…”
Things get progressively more surreal, and we learn that not
only are there discos going on in there, but because there’s no
water, the revellers have to bathe in a pool of turds. Dudley
Moore starts laughing uncontrollably, making it all the more
hilarious to us lot, i.e., the listeners. Eventually he returns
for to tell us all about the Spanish revolutionaries that reside
in Ms Crawford’s anus.
Come Again is my favourite Derek And Clive record, certainly the
most consistently hilarious. I once played it to a fella in a
pub, back when folks had to carry things like “CD-Players”
around with them. “Sounds like two drunk fuckers slabberin’” was
the response, and probably the most accurate appraisal of Derek
And Clive I’ve ever heard.
Slabberin’, by the way, is a parochial term for “talking shite”.
Disappear – Bubba Sparxxx
(Plucked from Deliverance)
Let me set out this alarming tale of intrigue for to intrigue
and alarm your very nuts.
Back in the day, I read a review of a record by the name of
Deliverance, the latest release by none other than Hip-Hop type
Bubba Sparxxx. The talk of Southern licks and the like being
incorporated into the old Hippin, Hoppin, Pimpin and so on
intrigued me enough for to download a few tracks from said
record.
I listened, I loved it, I bought the Compact CD. The lesson
learned; Illegal Piracy is killing the music industry.
Sadly, however, turns out that the majority of folks didn’t even
bother for to download the record illegally, never mind buy the
damn thing. What it is, is as good a Hip-Hop album as I’ve
heard. In The Duke’s All Time Fave Rap Records, it’s up there
with Straight Outta Compton, Home Invasion, The Marshall Mathers
LP, Regulate… G Funk Era, It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold
Us Back and Hammer Smashed Face by Cannibal Corpse.
“A lot a y’all were thinkin’ that Bubba would disappear”, states
the chorus, “Get the money from Ugly and grab a keg a beer”, but
thank Zeus he didn’t, and instead crafted shit like this right
here, a brilliant skewering of cliché and stereotype. I’m
looking forward to his next adventure, is the truth of the
matter.
Memory Lane – Elliot Smith
(Plucked from From A Basement On The Hill)
I thought this was Dylan again for a second, rolling in on a
Freewheelin-esque fingerpick type deal. It ain’t for a second,
though, and I was wrong as all fuck for assuming that to be the
case. What it turned out to be, was my favourite track from
Smith’s posthumously released From A Basement On The Hill.
This is beautiful, allow me to state for the jury. Smith’s
double-tracked vocals effortlessly wrap their honeyed tones
around one of his most simplistic, stunning melodies. What tends
to happen, in light of the horrific end to Smith’s life, is that
folks assume his music to be exclusively mournful, depressing
sorta stuff. Certainly that was The Duke’s assumption.
Imagine my surprise, then, when what bounded from the speakers
back in the day turned out to be not the lonesome wailing I had
anticipated, but the sweetest tunes this side of Blackbird by
The Rolling Stones or whoever it was McCartney hung out with.
What Is The Light – The Flaming Lips
(Plucked from The Soft Bulletin)
“What is the light shining all around you?” enquire The Lips,
not unreasonably. “Is it chemically derived?”
That right there is one of my favourite lyrics of all time.
What happened was I picked up The Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi
Battles The Pink Robots on the same day. I got home, flung them
on, and was indeed impressed by the pop alchemy conducted
therein. Very clever, I thought, but still, I doubt I’ll listen
to it ever the fuck again.
And so it would have remained, if I hadn’t thrown on The Soft
Bulletin again one dreary afternoon, only to suffer some sort of
Damascus-esque revelation, except instead of being blinded by
The Messiah, God and so on, it was the witty banter, the
adventurous arrangements, the sense of discovery. It’s some of
the most unique pop music you’re liable to hear in this day and
age, owing a lot to Brian Wilson and his brand of studio
tomfoolery.
What happened henceforth that incident, was that both those
records became Firm Favourites De Duke. Good work Flaming Lips.
Not To Regret – Rancid
(Plucked from Rancid 2000)
Following the sprawling, majestic Life Won’t Wait, this self-
titled opus came as something of a shock. In an era of
corporate, market-driven “pop-punk” bullshit, Rancid delivered
this bile-soaked, furious howl of an L.P.
Not To Regret is one of many, many highlights. Lightening fast,
Tim Armstrong’s phlegm-soaked growl slicing through the
distorted onslaught, spitting out lyrics about “Some people say
I’m fuckin’ crazy, it doesn’t faze me” and such. Aggressive as
all hell, but the pop sensibilities are still there. I think
it'd be beyond these cats to conceive of a melody that’s
anything less than wonderful.
The next record, the equally brilliant Indestructible, returned
to the genre-hopping of Life Won’t Wait, but this right here is
a startling, powerful diversion from the blueprint.
Party For Your Right To Fight – Public Enemy
(Plucked from It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back)
Utterly brilliant offering from Chuck and Co., as appears on
their still-awe-inspiring It Takes A Nation Of Millions…
Chuck D is as incendiary as ever, and herein he lays the blame
for the deaths of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King right at the
feet of the FBI.
“J. Edgar Hoover, and he coulda proved to you
He had King and X set up
Also the party with Newton, Cleaver and Seale
He ended, so get up
Time to get em back”
An array of samples, including a line from Bob Marley’s Get Up,
Stand Up, whip and crack around a fellas ears. This, from all
the way back in 1988, sounds more intense, more immediate, than
much of the shit being offered nowadays.
Got Your Money – Ol’ Dirty Bastard
(Plucked from Nigga Please)
And from the politicised rage of Public Enemy, we segue into a
bout of foul-mouthed filth-talk from the late Wu Tang grappler.
Sonically, this is fantastic, especially the gorgeous hook, as
delivered by Kelis. Lyrically, Ol’ Dirty Bastard runs all the
way from the offensively misogynist to the self-parodic with
dizzying ease.
His rasp is as commanding as ever, even when mouthing shit like;
“I don’t got a problem with you fuckin’ me, but I got a problem
with you not fuckin’ me”
or
“I don’t want no problems cause I’ll put you down,
In the ground where you can not be found”
Most of Return To The 36 Chambers (Dirty Version) pisses all
over this, but that’s how it goes in the heady world of the iPod
shuffle.
Edinburgh – Aaron McMullan
(Plucked from What Happened Was This, available for free HERE)
Who’d have envisioned this shit?
What happens, is that when The Duke flings the EP things onto
the web-net, by way of the Mondo Irlando EP Page Malarkey, I
also fling them onto the iPod, since things that seem reasonably
listenable in the middle of the A.M can, in the harsh light of
day, be revealed as utter toss.
So, in its infinite wisdom, the iPod decided no party would be
complete without this mournful reflection on times spent
wandering drunkenly around the most beautiful city I’ve ever
laid eyes on.
However, since it’s my own good self, it finds itself
Disqualified As Fuck, meaning we have to jump straight to Track
11, being the following;
Celebrity Suicide – Derek And Clive
(Plucked from Ad Nauseum)
I didn’t expect the same artists to feature twice, to be honest.
I mean come the hell on, iPod, with all the records at your
disposal, how could you fail to present eleven tracks from
eleven different folks? Out of 2266 tracks, how can it be that
of fifteen plucked at random from out the library, two are Derek
And Clive numbers? It doesn’t make sense.
But here it is anyway. Ad Naseum is my least favourite Derek And
Clive record, and it’s also the one they record during the oddly
disturbing Derek And Clive Get The Horn motion flick. It has
great moments, for sure, but there’s an overbearing nastiness to
the proceedings, most evident in the Guinness Book Of Records
stuff, that I find hard to stomach.
Thankfully, however, this particular routine is gut-shreddingly
funny. Dudley Moore’s half-conscious, near-inaudible mutterings
are priceless, working almost as some kind of orchestration to
Peter Cook’s nonsense about Ball Bearing factories and being
refused for to take part in a show by the name of Celebrity
Suicide, wherein contestants take it in turns to get hung, and
the last person to die gets a thousand quid.
“Is it because I’m only one inch high?” asks Cook.
“No, it’s nothing to do with that. The basic fact is that we
think you’re a cunt.”
“That’s unusual” offers Dudley.
Then, riffing on the theme, Cook induces hysterics in his
partner by detailing his wife’s appearance on popular TV show
Blow Your Tits Up, wherein celebrities attach explosives to
women’s breasts, awarding prizes to the ones that go highest in
the air.
Folks yack on about Derek And Clive being nothing more than an
excuse for two old drunk farts for to swear at each other. This,
however, is semi-improvised comedy approaching some level of
genius.
Well, that’s all for this inaugural voyage, folks.
Fling The Duke An Email Letter
brilliantly snarky Nathan Barley, a newspaper editor waxes on
about what he’s gonna have in this week’s Sunday Supplement. One
of said incisive articles involves seeing what a prominent
politician has on his iPod.
We, the humble viewers, are invited for to snigger and to mourn.
Is this where culture has taken us? That the most important
thing we can conceive of writing about is what somebody might
have in their pocket for to listen to on the bus?
Well, sorry Chris Morris. I think you’re fucking great man. For
sure, I have those DVD’s of The Day Today and Brass Eye and Jam,
and I know some folks don’t like Barley, but I think it’s just
swell.
However, I’m also shallow and / or nosey enough to find myself
intrigued no-end by lists concerning songs plucked at random
from someone’s iPod.
Even if I can’t stand the individual in question, I still find
myself scanning through the list, looking to see what
insufferable crap they might have flung on there. Sometimes, I
find that maybe they’ve got something by The Nipple Erectors or
Selfish Cunt, and I find myself completely re-evaluating my
opinion on said individual.
No-one who has Corporate Slut on the playlist can be all bad,
surely.
Also, from a writing stand-point, it gives a scribbler a chance
for to scribble about stuff they may not otherwise get to
scribble about.
So, in the spirit of camaraderie and emotional emptiness, I
present the first instalment in a semi-regular feature by the
name of;
Stuff Thrown Up At Random By The Duke’s iPod.
So, with “Party Shuffle” selected, fifteen tracks get flung at
The Duke’s ear-drum holes. However, I present only the first ten.
All I Really Wanna Do – Bob Dylan
(Plucked from The Bootleg Series Volume 6)
The Dylan Bootleg Series albums are fantastic, is all there is
to it. Even if you already have the tracks in question, the
exceptional booklets and the remastered sound should be enough
for to tempt the pennies from out a fella’s fist.
This here track is from the sixth such release, being a 1964
Halloween concert at the Philharmonic Hall. It’s a totally
acoustic set, and Dylan is still playing the aw-shucks kid just
out for to entertain the folks in the seats. It’s a far cry from
the mysterious, stoned-to-blazes Dylan who pops up in the
Manchester Free Trade Hall concert from 66, also available as
part of this Bootleg Series (albeit under the name The “Albert
Hall” Concert).
This is one of the best versions of the song you’re likely to
encounter, possibly better even than the one that opens Another
Side Of Bob Dylan. And The Byrds did a mean cover, too.
Lyrically, it’s a load of old nonsense, and yet somehow
brilliant. It’s Dylan experimenting with the “language” and
such, and wrapping it up in the veil of the Love Song, except
it's not really a love song, truth be told.
“I ain’t lookin’ to compete with you,
Beat or cheat or mistreat you,
Simplify you, classify you,
Deny, defy or crucify you
All I really wanna do
Is baby, be friends with you”
The yodelled “All I really wanna doooooooooo” still gets a fella
giddy.
To Another Abyss – Bad Religion
(Plucked from The Empire Strikes First)
I haven’t given Bad Religion’s most recent record the attention
it deserves, is the crippling truth of it all. To be perfectly
honest, I couldn’t name you three tracks from it. This is no
indication of the worth of the album, though, just indicative of
the fact that The Duke has been listening to far too much
Lucinda Williams recently.
Anyhow, in this number, taken from that very Long Player, the
boys decide that really, they couldn’t care less about The
Economy or The Politics or Anything Much, and decide to spend
their time writing songs about girls and dope.
Cunningly, however, they present it in the form of an anti-war,
anti-bush number with sundry references to The Economy and The
Politics and the Anything Much.
It’s as melodic as ever, and as angry, but the production does
feel a tad weak. Those harmonies, though. A man would trade a
kidney for that kinda wonder.
Joan Crawford – Derek And Clive
(Plucked from Come Again)
From Pete & Dud’s wonderfully filthy second record, Come Again,
this here is a marvellous tale concerning Clive’s adventures in
Joan Crawford’s hoo-hah.
“Up Joan Crawford’s cunt there are fucking fleets of ships,
light aircraft…”
Things get progressively more surreal, and we learn that not
only are there discos going on in there, but because there’s no
water, the revellers have to bathe in a pool of turds. Dudley
Moore starts laughing uncontrollably, making it all the more
hilarious to us lot, i.e., the listeners. Eventually he returns
for to tell us all about the Spanish revolutionaries that reside
in Ms Crawford’s anus.
Come Again is my favourite Derek And Clive record, certainly the
most consistently hilarious. I once played it to a fella in a
pub, back when folks had to carry things like “CD-Players”
around with them. “Sounds like two drunk fuckers slabberin’” was
the response, and probably the most accurate appraisal of Derek
And Clive I’ve ever heard.
Slabberin’, by the way, is a parochial term for “talking shite”.
Disappear – Bubba Sparxxx
(Plucked from Deliverance)
Let me set out this alarming tale of intrigue for to intrigue
and alarm your very nuts.
Back in the day, I read a review of a record by the name of
Deliverance, the latest release by none other than Hip-Hop type
Bubba Sparxxx. The talk of Southern licks and the like being
incorporated into the old Hippin, Hoppin, Pimpin and so on
intrigued me enough for to download a few tracks from said
record.
I listened, I loved it, I bought the Compact CD. The lesson
learned; Illegal Piracy is killing the music industry.
Sadly, however, turns out that the majority of folks didn’t even
bother for to download the record illegally, never mind buy the
damn thing. What it is, is as good a Hip-Hop album as I’ve
heard. In The Duke’s All Time Fave Rap Records, it’s up there
with Straight Outta Compton, Home Invasion, The Marshall Mathers
LP, Regulate… G Funk Era, It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold
Us Back and Hammer Smashed Face by Cannibal Corpse.
“A lot a y’all were thinkin’ that Bubba would disappear”, states
the chorus, “Get the money from Ugly and grab a keg a beer”, but
thank Zeus he didn’t, and instead crafted shit like this right
here, a brilliant skewering of cliché and stereotype. I’m
looking forward to his next adventure, is the truth of the
matter.
Memory Lane – Elliot Smith
(Plucked from From A Basement On The Hill)
I thought this was Dylan again for a second, rolling in on a
Freewheelin-esque fingerpick type deal. It ain’t for a second,
though, and I was wrong as all fuck for assuming that to be the
case. What it turned out to be, was my favourite track from
Smith’s posthumously released From A Basement On The Hill.
This is beautiful, allow me to state for the jury. Smith’s
double-tracked vocals effortlessly wrap their honeyed tones
around one of his most simplistic, stunning melodies. What tends
to happen, in light of the horrific end to Smith’s life, is that
folks assume his music to be exclusively mournful, depressing
sorta stuff. Certainly that was The Duke’s assumption.
Imagine my surprise, then, when what bounded from the speakers
back in the day turned out to be not the lonesome wailing I had
anticipated, but the sweetest tunes this side of Blackbird by
The Rolling Stones or whoever it was McCartney hung out with.
What Is The Light – The Flaming Lips
(Plucked from The Soft Bulletin)
“What is the light shining all around you?” enquire The Lips,
not unreasonably. “Is it chemically derived?”
That right there is one of my favourite lyrics of all time.
What happened was I picked up The Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi
Battles The Pink Robots on the same day. I got home, flung them
on, and was indeed impressed by the pop alchemy conducted
therein. Very clever, I thought, but still, I doubt I’ll listen
to it ever the fuck again.
And so it would have remained, if I hadn’t thrown on The Soft
Bulletin again one dreary afternoon, only to suffer some sort of
Damascus-esque revelation, except instead of being blinded by
The Messiah, God and so on, it was the witty banter, the
adventurous arrangements, the sense of discovery. It’s some of
the most unique pop music you’re liable to hear in this day and
age, owing a lot to Brian Wilson and his brand of studio
tomfoolery.
What happened henceforth that incident, was that both those
records became Firm Favourites De Duke. Good work Flaming Lips.
Not To Regret – Rancid
(Plucked from Rancid 2000)
Following the sprawling, majestic Life Won’t Wait, this self-
titled opus came as something of a shock. In an era of
corporate, market-driven “pop-punk” bullshit, Rancid delivered
this bile-soaked, furious howl of an L.P.
Not To Regret is one of many, many highlights. Lightening fast,
Tim Armstrong’s phlegm-soaked growl slicing through the
distorted onslaught, spitting out lyrics about “Some people say
I’m fuckin’ crazy, it doesn’t faze me” and such. Aggressive as
all hell, but the pop sensibilities are still there. I think
it'd be beyond these cats to conceive of a melody that’s
anything less than wonderful.
The next record, the equally brilliant Indestructible, returned
to the genre-hopping of Life Won’t Wait, but this right here is
a startling, powerful diversion from the blueprint.
Party For Your Right To Fight – Public Enemy
(Plucked from It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back)
Utterly brilliant offering from Chuck and Co., as appears on
their still-awe-inspiring It Takes A Nation Of Millions…
Chuck D is as incendiary as ever, and herein he lays the blame
for the deaths of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King right at the
feet of the FBI.
“J. Edgar Hoover, and he coulda proved to you
He had King and X set up
Also the party with Newton, Cleaver and Seale
He ended, so get up
Time to get em back”
An array of samples, including a line from Bob Marley’s Get Up,
Stand Up, whip and crack around a fellas ears. This, from all
the way back in 1988, sounds more intense, more immediate, than
much of the shit being offered nowadays.
Got Your Money – Ol’ Dirty Bastard
(Plucked from Nigga Please)
And from the politicised rage of Public Enemy, we segue into a
bout of foul-mouthed filth-talk from the late Wu Tang grappler.
Sonically, this is fantastic, especially the gorgeous hook, as
delivered by Kelis. Lyrically, Ol’ Dirty Bastard runs all the
way from the offensively misogynist to the self-parodic with
dizzying ease.
His rasp is as commanding as ever, even when mouthing shit like;
“I don’t got a problem with you fuckin’ me, but I got a problem
with you not fuckin’ me”
or
“I don’t want no problems cause I’ll put you down,
In the ground where you can not be found”
Most of Return To The 36 Chambers (Dirty Version) pisses all
over this, but that’s how it goes in the heady world of the iPod
shuffle.
Edinburgh – Aaron McMullan
(Plucked from What Happened Was This, available for free HERE)
Who’d have envisioned this shit?
What happens, is that when The Duke flings the EP things onto
the web-net, by way of the Mondo Irlando EP Page Malarkey, I
also fling them onto the iPod, since things that seem reasonably
listenable in the middle of the A.M can, in the harsh light of
day, be revealed as utter toss.
So, in its infinite wisdom, the iPod decided no party would be
complete without this mournful reflection on times spent
wandering drunkenly around the most beautiful city I’ve ever
laid eyes on.
However, since it’s my own good self, it finds itself
Disqualified As Fuck, meaning we have to jump straight to Track
11, being the following;
Celebrity Suicide – Derek And Clive
(Plucked from Ad Nauseum)
I didn’t expect the same artists to feature twice, to be honest.
I mean come the hell on, iPod, with all the records at your
disposal, how could you fail to present eleven tracks from
eleven different folks? Out of 2266 tracks, how can it be that
of fifteen plucked at random from out the library, two are Derek
And Clive numbers? It doesn’t make sense.
But here it is anyway. Ad Naseum is my least favourite Derek And
Clive record, and it’s also the one they record during the oddly
disturbing Derek And Clive Get The Horn motion flick. It has
great moments, for sure, but there’s an overbearing nastiness to
the proceedings, most evident in the Guinness Book Of Records
stuff, that I find hard to stomach.
Thankfully, however, this particular routine is gut-shreddingly
funny. Dudley Moore’s half-conscious, near-inaudible mutterings
are priceless, working almost as some kind of orchestration to
Peter Cook’s nonsense about Ball Bearing factories and being
refused for to take part in a show by the name of Celebrity
Suicide, wherein contestants take it in turns to get hung, and
the last person to die gets a thousand quid.
“Is it because I’m only one inch high?” asks Cook.
“No, it’s nothing to do with that. The basic fact is that we
think you’re a cunt.”
“That’s unusual” offers Dudley.
Then, riffing on the theme, Cook induces hysterics in his
partner by detailing his wife’s appearance on popular TV show
Blow Your Tits Up, wherein celebrities attach explosives to
women’s breasts, awarding prizes to the ones that go highest in
the air.
Folks yack on about Derek And Clive being nothing more than an
excuse for two old drunk farts for to swear at each other. This,
however, is semi-improvised comedy approaching some level of
genius.
Well, that’s all for this inaugural voyage, folks.
Fling The Duke An Email Letter
