Princess Ricochet was formed from the ashes of a back yard pit fire made from discarded plywood. These suburban cinders wheezed and crackled and began making a racket. After enough monkeys had pounded on the keyboard, melodies started to emerge, strange and protean. Because the Princess arose from a congealed melted amalgam of beer cans, cheese doodle wrapers and lead paint, it has been hard to classify the music.
Some say the sound is melancholy and sweet, some say it sounds like the bastard love child of tranvestite unicorn and a drunken flea infested street angel (his last act before dissolving in a cloud of yellowed feathers and Hamm's). Some say that maybe the Princess will wake up some day and get married and stop all this nonsense. She has yet to respond to the rumors, she is still dancing.
naked profile without any comments... now defiled with this. george, i heard your "shut up" at the beginning of blue sailor. i know what you're saying, man. i know all about it. you guys are my favorites, by the way. favorites.
