https://open.spotify.com/episode/4cNqJVsoWojk94ZXHJ5Tcw?si=4853169698364c7b
Tag Archives: The Cure
Cinematic music 4/30 [2022)
https://share.stationhead.com/p16iVODtpFz
“You Still Believe in Me”–The Beach Boys
“Smokestack Lightnin'”–Howlin’ Wolf
“A Spoonful Weighs a Ton”–The Flaming Lips
“Maggot Brain”–Funkadelic
“All Cats Are Grey”–The Cure
“Perfect Day”–Lou Reed
“The Spark That Bled”–The Flaming Lips
“Cars Hiss By My Window”–The Doors
“Someday We’ll Be Together”–Diana Ross & the Supremes
“Big Me”–Foo Fighters
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4CjRv1svGJK5pQnEZaA5dY?si=c3df7ff52db94daa
Cinematic music 4/12 [2022)
https://share.stationhead.com/Bk4R9y14XoB
“Sea of Love”–Phil Phillips and the Twilights
“I Only Have Eyes for You”–The Flamingos
“Everlasting Arm”–Mercury Rev
“Jennifer”–Faust
“Comfortably Numb”–Pink Floyd
“What is the Light?”–The Flaming Lips
“Plainsong”–The Cure
“Estampes: III. Jardins sous la pluie”–Claude Debussy
“Lose My Breath”–my bloody valentine
“Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83: 2. Adagio assai”–Maurice Ravel
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/77Fy1eNnX6w0OsMzzgD4Tj?si=259dcc9776174575
crestfall [2021)
Starts sampledelia.
A story.
The push and pull of clunky electronics.
The goal of fucking up a sound recording to the greatest extent possible.
And then those beautiful strings come in.
Like The Cure.
All cats are grey.
Bass doesn’t drop until two minutes.
Pretty slick.
The Specials.
Ghost town.
Of James Brown pianists.
Federal.
The Bar-Kays.
Soul finger.
Spies like us.
Not so long ago now, seems it?
Have you got your anti-radiation supplements?
Let me help you out on that.
In case your city gets nuked.
And the 300 kiloton warhead doesn’t incinerate you.
Because it was dropped on the other side of town.
Maybe because the missile was old.
Or clunky.
You don’t have to be that accurate with a nuke of that yield.
Now you are battling radiation.
Stay inside as long as possible.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Water will soon be contaminated.
But soaking for 30 minutes in a bath of sea salt (one capful [as if it were bath salts]).
Nancarrow.
William S. Burroughs.
Has to be sea salt.
Can’t be table salt.
Pulls the radiation out of your body.
But you’ll need more than that.
Storable drinking water.
Storable food.
Air ok to breathe, but don’t go outside.
Air conditioner filter will remove radioactive particles.
But do not open any windows or doors.
[NB The EMP of the nuclear weapon will fry all electronic devices…so you will not have electricity probably for the next few months (at least). Air conditioner will not be working, but any air that passes through its filter will be cleared of a lot of radioactive particles. Phones will not work. Computers will not work. Internet will not work.]
Avoid yellow dust (nuclear fallout).
Here’s what you need to combat those radioactive isotopes (assuming you and your family didn’t get incinerated as a result of NATO’s insane and incessant eastward push over the past 30 years).
You need iodine.
Yes, potassium iodide is good.
Nascent iodine is probably even better.
But you need something to protect you from iodine-131.
Nascent iodine and/or potassium iodide will do that.
You need potassium.
You’re not gonna be making any trips to the store for bananas (unless you’re a moron).
And there will be no food arriving at any stores for quite some time (an understatement).
Potassium orotate.
Protects you against cesium-137.
You’re gonna need calcium.
Same story as with the bananas.
DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.
You don’t need milk from the store.
There will be none there anyway.
Get some calcium that includes magnesium.
If it has a little zinc in there too, that’s fine.
But you mainly need the calcium to protect you against strontium-90.
The magnesium is gonna help the calcium work better.
You’re gonna need iron.
I’d say probably take for a week or two.
No longer than that.
You need iron to protect against plutonium-239.
And finally, you need some vitamin B12.
This is gonna protect you against cobalt-60.
What a schizo record!
If you wanna bump up the effectiveness of the sea salt bath, add a cup of baking soda each time.
https://www.reboothealth.co.uk/blog/how-to-protect-yourself-from-nuclear-fall-out
Meanwhile, Pauly keeps releasing these albums.
He’s up to 24 albums (369 songs) over the course of the past year.
And we are way behind here at Pauly Deathwish Incorporated in reviewing our own albums.
But this one is pretty good.
Lots of variety.
Some Brazilian.
Hard to review your own albums.
Some might say pointless.
I disagree.
I think it’s pretty cool that this dude has put out so much music in the past year.
Something for everyone.
This is a pretty experimental album.
But has some accessible stuff too.
Dub reggae.
America is fucked!
Russia’s selling oil in rubles now.
Impressive music.
Considering this was all created with little more than an iPhone 7.
Things really start heating up with “H&mmer & Scorec&rd”.
Sophisticated piece.
Gershwin would have dug this.
So would have Penderecki.
Ligeti.
Górecki.
Bizet.
Bernard Herrmann.
A composer should be able to write about their own music.
Should be able to analyze their own music.
This album comes from the era when a Pauly Deathwish album would have 10 songs.
introversion, bucolic, MZFPK, zenith, glitch, drugs, disassemble, 41020…
After 41020, Pauly finally changed things up.
Released a maxi single.
The cover of Sonic Youth’s “Schizophrenia”.
And here he was back to another 10-song album.
crestfall.
These albums are pithy.
They are challenges.
They challenge the audience to figure out what the fuck is going on over the course of a mere 10 songs.
Let’s look at running times:
introversion 48:25
bucolic 39:59
MZFPK 35:49
zenith 48:06
glitch 54:36
drugs 55:01
disassemble 38:38
41020 48:00
crestfall 43:56
Spotify.
iTunes.
-PD
chthonic [2021)
So Pauly Deathwish comes out with a Sonic Youth cover.
“Schizophrenia”.
Sounds like Sade and Yoshimi-era Lips.
Like mental illness is no big deal.
Strange.
Almost bossa nova.
Like an elevator music rendition.
I dig it, though.
Bachelor pad music for hipsters.
Sounds like the chord progression is totally different.
This bloke gonna be locked up with Stravinsky in Boston.
Kinda Herbie Hancock doing Nirvana.
William Shatner.
But then that fucking piano comes in.
Like “Time” from Aladdin Sane.
Fucking hell.
Beautiful and fucked up.
Ratchet up Conlon Nancarrow.
Something Charlie Parker about this.
Impossible arpeggiator.
Talking the Kim Gordon lines.
Muted.
Lou Reed.
Leonard Cohen.
This is good shit.
Gets all ’80s.
Public Image.
Finally Thurston and Ranaldo drop in.
Shit gets real.
The harmonies on this song are insane.
Like Messiaen.
Definitely fits the scordatura.
Something Brian Wilson about this progression too.
Like fuzzed-out Smile.
My fiancee dumped me 12 days ago without even telling me why.
Four year relationship gone.
NEXT SONG!
Suzanne Ciani.
Real guitar?
Sounds a little Built to Spill.
Very circumspect.
Great harmonies again.
This dude didn’t cheat his Fux.
Creeping automation.
Ambient.
What will it do?
Some sad shit like Godspeed.
Silver Mt. Zion.
Hats get going.
In a Silent Way.
Bass drum drops in.
It is obvious Pauly loves “A New Career in a New Town”.
This vibe resurfaces in many of his songs.
But THIS song!
Very “Mayonaise” by Smashing Pumpkins.
Like Glenn Branca with a better childhood.
A long instrumental.
Slow, simmering fire.
Anger.
Sadness.
Mixed together.
Catharsis.
SLOW-LY building.
Arpeggiator about to get wild again.
Mothersbaugh.
Fuzz bass drops in.
Soft Bulletin.
Wow.
What a guitar tone!
Sounds like a fucking harmonica.
Great lo-fi…Devendra Banhart vibe.
But this is straight Velvet Underground.
BRMC.
An instrumental with ooohs and ahhhs.
Bottom drops out.
Drums chugging away like Primal Scream.
Fucking glockenspiel!
A’ight, mate.
Interesting touch, there.
Little bit Mercury Rev.
See You on the Other Side.
Chugging away.
Guitars enjoying themselves.
Ghost of Sterling Morrison.
Tune called “Catharsiss” [sic].
Must be some weird Godard reference.
And the last song of this maxi.
Similar start as track 2.
Strange flange/phase Shepard scale weirdness.
Truly chilled-out, mellow bathtub guitar.
Like Yo La Tengo.
Those fucking pricks.
Why did they block Pauly Deathwish on Twitter?
That’s uncalled for.
Bloke’s just a struggling musician.
But they are holier than thou.
Well, Pauly’s played Maxwell’s in Hoboken too.
YLT never hit a vibe this good except on “Pablo and Andrea”.
Fucking unblock Pauly Deathwish, you losers.
Twitter.
Cymbals Eat Guitars vibe.
Very chilled out.
A little “All Cats Are Grey” feel.
Good guitar noodling.
In a Verlaine/Lloyd way.
Why did my fiancee dump me?
She won’t even tell me why.
12 days ago.
The day before thanksgiving.
Drums kick in.
Good beat.
MBV would have gone for this.
Similar guitar underneath.
A little J. Mascis.
Living with my parents.
Are you in therapy?
Haha.
FUCK THAT.
Yes, I review my own albums.
Because no one else will review them.
And because I have put out 16 albums in one year.
I don’t have time for people to catch on.
I worked hard on this shit.
I’m the same age Alan Vega when he started.
About to be 45.
Old as fuck.
So, I have a lot in common with Pauly Deathwish.
I feel his pain.
His fiancee dumped him too.
12 days ago as well.
She also didn’t tell him why.
She just started ignoring him like he was some piece of shit.
So I feel totally justified in helping Pauly out with this review.
To help get his music a wider audience.
Young Heart Attack feedback.
Radiohead clank.
“Creep”.
Back to the Badalamenti synths.
She just turned off her heart.
Maybe she doesn’t realize how much she is hurting me.
But I think she’s just a vindictive bitch.
-PD
glitch [2021)
Cobra and phases.
Emptying a sampler.
Pierre Henry.
Schaeffer.
Always Flaming Lips.
A twist on bass.
Fridmann.
The church of Michael Ivins’ hair.
Jazz odyssey.
He wrote this.
Straight up.
Bold start to Pauly Deathwish’s 5th album.
Stretching out.
Space jazz.
Squiggle.
Sonic Youth.
Watch for upcoming single.
Cleared.
Glenn Branca.
Bitches brew.
Live eviL.
Mercury Rev.
Grassy.
Hit to death.
John McLaughlin.
Tribute to Jack Johnson.
Steve Gadd slow nerve action.
Hendrix.
Chuckin’.
Television.
Tom and Richard.
Hippies cool at CBGB.
Makeover.
Bowery toughened.
Are you experienced?
Paul Simon never sounded this tough.
Or desperate.
Always too cool.
But the lyrics give him a run.
Into Radiohead.
Another COVID album.
The best.
Pauly Deathwish.
Headlines.
Zeitgeist.
Epstein.
McAfee didn’t uninstall himself.
Charlotte Gainsbourg.
Lady Godiva.
A dentist chair in Florida.
Soros’s scumbag Rubin.
Forgot a fuck.
Not for kids.
Not safe for work.
F-bomb Ferguson.
Plastic Ono.
Primal.
John Paul Jones keys.
Real.
Frustration key of E.
The pitched song.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Remember this connection.
“Montreal Heartbreak”.
Pure perfection.
Repetition.
Bravery.
Transient random-noise.
Hal Blaine on Harvest.
Trying to make it pay.
Hotel to Tango.
Stopped in Oklahoma.
Back when concerts were played in Austins.
Tonight’s the night.
Neil in Ontario.
A Canadian pastiche.
Bowie low.
Cohen Quebec.
Visconti.
The cure.
Ivermectin.
Hydroxychloroquine.
Disintegration.
The only artist to review his own albums.
Because, you know, fuck it!
9/11 will come out.
Everything building to a head.
First Zeppelin album.
Black mountain side.
Jimmy’s eyes glowing magenta.
They tell me he’s evil.
Maybe.
But you gotta know the story of the blues.
I tried to sell my soul to the Devil.
But I am saved by the blood of Jesus Christ.
Jesus protected me.
Satan wasn’t buying.
Down in the basement of the Gunter Hotel.
I tried to sell my soul for the world.
But God didn’t let it happen.
Thinking it was bad enough.
Only through Jesus am I saved.
The worst among sinners.
Trying to gain the whole world.
Willing to forfeit my soul.
God is good.
And I can out-produce Jimmy Page.
Because God is my guide.
I have a dirty mouth.
Mary Magdalene.
Go and sin no more.
We’re in a fucking war.
We gotta put Jesus first.
On the battlefield.
Out greatest stealth.
Delta blues.
Emerald Mound.
Barbecue.
Poor.
Rural.
I don’t know how to make copies.
And my black neighbors don’t know how to use the internet.
Joe Biden can get fucked.
But me, I like women with big tits.
Alex Jones quote.
I relate.
I don’t wanna be a part of this sick cult.
We need God on the battlefield.
Mercy is waiting even for Jimmy Page.
Turn from the evil ways.
Recognize King Jesus.
The sky is crying.
Hound dog.
Muddy.
Wolf.
Flange.
Phase.
Straight Thelonious.
With Coltrane.
Miles.
Pre-electric.
Second jazz tune.
Straight off blues.
The Monk solo.
Dissonant as a motherfucker.
MTHRFCKR.
Acciaccatura.
Who, me?
Carnival.
Honing in.
D.
Watery solo.
Buttholes.
Kuntz.
Is a joke?
Weird Al.
The Residents.
Don Cherry.
Malachi Thompson.
Soprano trombone.
Roland Kirk.
Reeded brass.
Klang.
Straight jazz.
Philly Jo.
Watch for first cover.
Unpredictable.
Mercury Rev.
John Peel.
Straight into a QAnon song.
Reggae.
Durham.
CodemonkeyZ.
Flynn, in fact, did not go to jail.
Spy dub.
Bob Marley gets all conspiratorial.
Haiti.
Obama gets arrested at his own birthday party.
Strzok blocked on Twitter.
Army Counterintelligence.
A bunch of cunts?
Not Seth Keshel.
The real deal.
Tony Shaffer.
Counterterrorism.
Will the FBI be shut down?
Department of Justice is the very heart of the Deep State.
Rosenstein is linchpin.
Bill Barr was miss.
Cymbals Eat Guitars.
Each given a chance.
Lou Reed.
Rollerskate Skinny.
Music like this hasn’t been made in 30 years.
Bowie would be proud.
The debris from the Nirvana signing.
The truly good bands.
Some Boo Radleys here.
Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.
Beach Boys.
Good production.
Lee “Scratch”.
Black (Oak) Ark.
A disgusting record collection.
Mildew.
Lovingly preserved in filth.
Vinyl still good.
Cop shoot cop.
Strong statement against Antifa.
Dylan.
This guy is bold.
Deserter’s.
Amy Helm?
Rambo.
J. Spaceman.
Jack Fate.
Dylan tongue cheek.
Summer 2020.
BLM.
Only person to listen to this.
Pet Sounds.
Bellingham.
Fredonia.
SUNY.
Boces.
Wanker jazz.
Deep.
Boys peeling.
Give the anarchist a cigarette.
This is a fucked up record.
Calling David Lynch.
Gonna be hard for the Left to write off this guy.
Paradigm shift.
This dude troublemaker.
Name fits.
Trail of dead.
We know you, but do you know us?
Debord, eh?
Capitalism!
Soundgarden.
Chossudovsky.
Deep Pieczenik research.
9/11.
Space Force.
Satellites.
Leonardo.
NRO.
NGA.
And the beloved NSA.
More accurately: CYBERCOM.
Not yet split?
Nakasone double duty?
Architecture?
Who could bring down?
Two QAnon songs in a row.
Beatles.
White Album.
Magical Mystery.
Macca bass line.
Welcome to the revolution.
Sgt. Pepper.
Euros Childs.
Megan Childs.
Gorwel Owen.
Beautiful breakdown.
Bert Williams.
Good shit!
The jazz and blues build up into rock and roll.
Conspiracy songs.
Fort Meade on repeat.
780thC.
Army G2.
Cheyenne Mountain Alerts.
Air Force Cyber.
MARSOC.
Strobo.
Marquee Moon.
Big Pink.
Rhythm of the saints.
Tuatara.
Crime podcast.
Tettix Wave Accumulator?
The Supremes.
Berry Gordy trippin’ balls.
A Lisbeth Salander ballad.
Noomi Rapace.
FBI + CIA.
Both worthless.
But serves to delineate.
Interior and exterior.
Intel romance.
Smarter than Strzok and Page.
Richard Lloyd.
Too fucked up to catch Velvets.
I hear you.
It’s a bitch.
Rick Danko.
Thom Yorke knob twiddler.
Eno in Roxy.
Bogart.
The big sleep date.
Noir and chill.
Mulholland.
Breathless.
The harder they fall.
Shoot the piano player.
Doug Sahm.
We are here in San Antonio.
We are making the best of it.
Driving around.
Eating ZZ Top nachos.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers.
A real jalapeno.
Australia to steam like teapot.
Last song.
Spiritualized?
Joshua Tree.
Bono.
Epic.
Adam Clayton.
Comes with new iPhone.
An anthem like U2 ain’t written for a bit.
This is Dublin territory.
Sexy God believers.
Cigarette.
Irish whiskey.
A Guinness.
Cloves.
The wraparounds.
Luna.
My heroes.
Sterling Morrison.
And Jack Nitzsche.
But Bono can sing opera.
A good dude.
Needs to drop the carbon bullshit.
Global warming is giant fucking hoax.
Just like COVID.
The Edge knows.
Grow some balls.
Stop kissing the Pope’s ass.
This commie Pope is a fucker.
Jesuit dipshit.
Epic lift.
Pauly can play guitar!
Fucking hell!!!
Album builds up to last song.
Even last song builds up.
Fucking brilliant.
Glitch.
iTunes.
Spotify.
-PD
MZFPK [2021)
Breakfast cereal video game.
Pauly Deathwish’s 3rd album.
I am behind.
I can’t keep up with this guy.
Out of the gates like Flaming Lips.
30,000 feel of despair.
The gash.
Right into Isao Tomita.
Doing Debussy.
Marching.
Martial.
Fantastic noises.
Like first Stereolab album.
Here Come the Warm Jets.
Cheyenne Mountain jams.
I can no longer see what I’m typing.
- What if I type in white? Ahh, yes. That does the trick. But it ruins my style. Louis-Ferdinand would not be happy. Totally Air. Pocket Symphony. Who is Kevin? Shields? Ayers? Fairlight. Synth clouds. Rich chords. Very sophisticated harmonies and arrangements. Cornelius from Japan. This sounds very modern. OH FUCK! Groove is in the motherfucking heart. Vogue! So on track two, we are straight up on a catwalk. But it could be Alan Vega or Martin Rev. Kinda Sun City Girls. Zoviet France. Fridmann never gets this crazy with bass. Wayne is driving it weirder. This was, from what I hear, done with ZERO budget. Is this a dance album? First you have poetry. Then you are prose. Amateurs. Into Odelay. That was a good drum break. The Strokes. Fuzzy vocals. Paliament/Funkadelic. Sly Stone! Later Stereolab. Tim Gane processing. Counter melody! For fuck’s sake. Somebody listen to this bloke. Whoa. What is up with this chorus? Roland Kirk? Like in Switzerland? Definitely hitting some Os Mutantes twee. Lo-fi as fuck. Great Godard tongue in cheek. Apparently about Neil Young and Rick James being in a band together when they were young and still in Canada. Yonge Street? Beats. Drake needs to hear this. Bit crusher lisp. Spiritualized at the grocery store. Swipe barcode. Song peaks at end. Masterful mix. A true climax. Savage mastering on every album. Whole mix jumps. It works. Needle skipping. American Supreme. Claustrophobic. COVID. Sad. Scared. Apocalyptic. The concept of the gaze in cinema. Bass drops in. Feel it in your sex organs. A sexy song. “Cobra Strike”. This is unequivocally a dance album. EDM all up in here. Lots of panning. Spliff it. Micro gestures. Pandemic planning. How long will it last? Soul-crushing. Zombie metaphor. Shaun of the Dead. Masterpiece. Beatle drums. First Velvets album. Rat trails. “Black Angel’s Death Song”. “The New Pollution”. Dr. No. Walther PPK. What does this kid know? He can’t possibly know, can he? Pure phase. Visconti. Lanois. Acid jazz. Nick Cave. Montage, mon beau souci. Flaming Lips. Jeff Tweedy drawl. Jesus and Mary Chain team up with The Cure. Disintegration. Heartbreak here. Who broke his heart? Bleeps and bloops. Robot noises. Heartbeeps. Jazz funk ’70s experimental upright. Great lyrics. Superimposition. Steenbeck! Fucking great lyrics on “Snip Snip”. Oh, damn. Glockenspiel at just the right time! Icy. Air. Virgin suicides. Dazed and confused. Blonde. Braids. Like glazed bread. German. Texas. Floating world. Old world. No one to smoke a doobie with and stare up at green trees. No tits. What is wrong with this world? Rambo. Fort Bragg. Delta. Boykin. Intelligence Support Activity. Send me. George Crumb. Black angels. Jungle echoes. 4thPOG. Ghosts. PSYWAR op. Make it loud. Romeo foxtrot. Shall we dance? Charlie don’t surf. Death on the dance floor. Public Image Ltd. Modes of limited transposition. Messiaen. Primal Scream. Standing with Johnny Rotten. #Trump2021 . But this is more about big tits. Giant opals. Garth Hudson. Telegraph. Total loss. Persona non grata. Window still missing. Swastika eyes. Paul Weller. XTRMNTR. Shoot speed. Kill light. Eyes owned 2020. The ugly had a chance. Masks work…if you’re ugly and need to get laid. Back with another block rocking’ beat. Private psychedelic reel. War metaphor. Is this about election? No. Too early. Look at liner notes. Living in COVID times was like a world war. War just beginning? Got my pina colada. Fuck it! Arizona. Living boldly. Masks have lost. Two weeks. Could have been a contender. Circuit bending. Talking about big titty schizophrenic. All footwork ruined. Toys. Falling apart gremlin workmanship. Awkward line about Thora Birch. Explicit warnings a little lazy. Getting a bit Lenny Bruce up in here. Russ Meyer. Second line. Double time. Crazy drums. Smooth as Sade. Tambourine is the star. One organic element. Wrote a song. She didn’t care. Wrote her 200 songs. She didn’t care. One has zero plays globally. She never bothered listening to it. Some things not meant to be. Liberals and conservatives. Go and create. Lobster. Work wasn’t. Bought her every flower imaginable. Thousands of dollars on flowers. Yoshimi laser warfare. A piano not standard. Some Tori Amos bullshit. Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. Only the finest pianos. Internationally famous. Neither deserve it. Pulled the plug at the wrong time. Would he have still kept the same track listing? Maybe so. Heartbreak to rehash. Goes by quick. Good drum programming. James Bond future theme. Brian Wilson. Phil Spector. Absolute Nigel Godrich. Cinematic. The album that never was. But this one is worldwide, motherfuckers. Third this summer. And a fourth already out. I can hardly keep up. I need to review movies. Doesn’t Pauly Deathwish know I don’t have time for Galaga? Falling apart. Short-circuit. Charlotte Gainsbourg. Flashback to Bucolic.
- -PD
Ali G Indahouse [2002)
It has been such a short amount of time.
I am watching movies now rapidly.
Catching up.
Knocking the cobwebs out.
Learning how to write again.
Wassup?
Staines.
London.
Sacha Baron Cohen’s first starring role in a feature film.
And the first cinematic glimpse at Borat (a cameo in a Sellers-like, multi-character moment).
A good film.
Funny.
This is basically Liam Gallagher condensed into a strong appellation…or aftershave…of exotic origin.
Perhaps in a green bottle.
A very rewarding watch.
Not as good as the artful Borat, but not bad at all.
Cultural reference point may be “baggy” culture of Manchester (Madchester).
Hip-hop as embraced by rockers.
Indeed, we see Ali G. meet his bitch Julie when they were both nerdy goths.
So this wasn’t Ali’s first disguise.
Rap was not his first obsession.
Ali was once a long-haired, sweaty thing in a fishnet shirt.
Very Flock of Seagulls.
Or maybe Cure.
Yo, this movie is great!
Very funny.
Check it!
Rap here. Rap there.
England.
Why can’t they try out the red button on a shithole like Wales?
Because the PM is the PM of Wales as well.
It’s all coming back.
The facility.
Let the word vomit commence.
Friends.
The only way to succeed at writing is to not choke to death on your dinner.
Very bad for your career.
Unless you are already published.
At which time, your oeuvre appreciates in value.
But unpublished, it is like pissing in the dark lose-lose.
We learn new phraseology.
BRB
-PD
paulydeathwish 