Robot badgers fighting a disco fox over who gets to play the next record because it is so awesome SIR, then slipping over in a shiny little puddle of silver paint, which inevitably leads to some impromptu sexy-time, and then whoops-a-daisy you have a badger-fox hybrid with massive ears and an incredible capacity to retain music nostalgia - very useful for pub quizzes - until everyone heads to that dingy little dive of a club (the only one open until when they choose to close) and it's a grimy, sticky-floored wrestle with cheap spirits and bass bins. And then, one day, they sit in the retirement home, knuckles wight and walking sticks sharpened, knowingly winking at one another, revelling in the fact that at least they did it, rather than take that plum job in investment.
Hey man, love ur new re-vamped laser product tracks. Im gona be working on a track called "class one lady lumps" for judder in august, u may recognise it. cu soon but until then keep it dirty and unneccessarily filthy, g-Z
