I’d like to give a quick shout-out to Kim for replying in exactly the manner which we would prohibit, should she be in our presence. She has no idea how much we’ve been talking about putting Manu Chao under the guillotine. Secondly, a shout-out goes to Lerman, who is currently battling the evil death schallots for a space on the appetiser plate.

“Thank You, Good Night!” says Sacarny.
“Tattoos are like jacking off with a handfull of carpet tacks, it hurts like hell, but you gotta finish” says Drat.
“Okie Dokey Karaoke!” says faithful Ethan.
ahhh yes, we are a predictable bunch. a lovely bunch, a bunch of lovely hooligans and where-agains (and Danny Gans) as we cast off towards the pacific in every which way, every waking day, shaving our faces of the stray bits of clay.


The winds are with us now, Prtlnd Orgn ho! Drunk on the moon, stoned by the stars and steered by a rather relentless young car, silver on the outside with love in its heart, and a badge declaring when its employment ends and starts, take us forth through the lagoons of the north where our fellow countrymen dance on a swash-buckling course on the whims of our feet and the balls of our limbs, our laughter rings out to the castles of kings, and the bats cannot see but to us they will sing, from the tops of the trees and the rites of our springs and the dust of our wings and the somes of our things, there sleeping she waits for the baskets we bring. what is the purpose of this bazooka circus? you’ll figure it out when we do, and by then we’ll be gone, America is changing so keep on yer feet, this old country’s grown out of its babyteeth. it’ll all grow up and by the time its done, it is us that will inherent this gunslinging mudsliding nation of fun, unity of all things under the sun, this six-sided die that knows nought but the one. “JACKPOT!” says Vegas, a new volcabulary learned. i wanna be ready for when that day comes and be able to say that i’ve breathed with my lungs the freshest of airs, the worst artistic interpretation of bears, I want to say that I’d reciprocated only the warmest of smiles, and on the fairest of mornings, in both city and country (for hundreds of miles), let the tingling in my nostrils wake me from my sleep and remind me that my birthplace is a place i shall keep in my heart and my hand, as close as i can. Yet its merely a heep, a heep of dry land, a heep with a history that went far beyond the pilgrims’ command, and as far as this goes, i’ll never understand, but i dig those surprises that life never planned.

~We, BG

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