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You beautiful, lovely, wonderful Barbelith people. Thanks.
Ouch, the bumps. Are you sure, Stoatie? I’ve already got a horrendous hangover, and there’ll be rather a lot of bumps needed this year: you might put your back out/burst my spleen/crack my pelvis. Can we not all just sit on a porch and whittle? And drink. And talk about the good old days. When indie music meant indie music, goddammit. And talk of ‘Jarvis’ called to mind a Rob Newman character. And there weren’t any of these new-fangled ‘ironic’ goths cluttering up the city centre, acting as if they invented bloody goth, the cheeky scamps.
Pah. Obviously I’m better suited to such rambling old-man talk than any fancy-dan speechifying. But I tire easily. Off for my nap.
Oh, and...pie for everyone! Pie and wine! |
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