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CHAPTER 1 "The Two Pilots"

Left to wander alone, abandoned by their intergalactic ratpacks and eating only the teeny amount of Planktoid droppings that they could scavenge, the first two "Pilots of Razzle" crossed paths in February of 2007 and knew that in order to survive and one day conquer the harsh conditions of these eye gouging L.A. catacombs and one day the entire universe, they would need to form an alliance and design a RAZZLE BLASTER powerful enough to rocket them through the hyper riff worm holes of space, time, and the bowels of all who challenged them in Mario Kart. Greg Atria (Fast Eddie, NY Frequencies, Head Trauma) and Tommy Meehan (The Brockly Tacos, Exposure, The Sloppy Retards) hatched 3 songs in just 3 months and fancied the idea of chonicling the whole mess into an EP of sorts. But not without a little help from their comrades. Assisting in some last minute larynx tearings, vocalist Jimmy Turner (Head of Destiny) and country-boy Cory Hebert sprinkled some pterodactyl grime onto an already very pterodactyl-ized pile of pterodactyl poo. Manning the intake valve and placenta board was Mr. Jon Cox of Magnus Opus Studios. How he put up with the whiskey enraged, tortilla fueled RAZZLE BLASTER was a mystery even to him. And for thus, "Shopping... WITH LEECHES!".

CHAPTER 2 "A New Alliance"

...And so it was, man and cephalopod had joined post-metamortomized alliances and RAZZLE BLASTER had grown two more heads. Not to mention a few thousand more tentacles, some lobster-pincers, and an insatiable hunger for raw cactus pods that would make "DANDRUFF DAD'S Whole Sale Gilla Monster Outlet" look like a local little league snack shack fiasco. Somewhere on the barren wasteland that is the dorsal side of the mighty RAZZLE BLASTER protrudes a hairy lump of gelatin that kind of tastes like hawaiian punch. Meet Bassist Drew Scott (Doc Holiday, Oneirion). The brain matter placement of this unique specimen seemed to have had a nail sticking right through it because it was, infact, hit right on the head. And boy could he operate a Bronchiosaur. Sticking out of the slimey underbelly of the RAZZLE BLASTER there had grown a ball of spikes that shrieked and sparked everytime they got too close to a passing planet. Meet vocalist Flanders Bayliss (The Mod Flanders Conspiracy). He may feel inclined to scarf on your insides or maybe even stroke his trunk at you. But he's okay. I also hear he gives a good "007 Golden Eye" 64 styley whoopin' to anybody who tries to touch his proton pack. And then they were 4...

Chapter 3 "Perfect Pink"

(The first rule of order: Slime, Spread, Ooze, Invade.)

Armored in the finest HI-LITER pink tunics and skin daddy platinum whites that Aphids could buy, our brave new pilots spewed forth onto the Los Angeles music scene as most gigantic cans of heavily digitalized whipping cream often do, in the most gracious of fashions. Homosexually charged scrap trap bantor and thoughtfully placed dinosaur movie theme songs made these early shows a complete and total sensual assault on the hordes of Freshly Strangled 2 Year Olds who were lucky enough to have actually witnessed the literal horror that is a RAZZLE BLASTER Demonstration. And they had proved to the masses that they weren't just another glazed and smitten rice kick. Crapitalizing on the wrinkled teeth of tyranny, RAZZLE BLASTER finds itself in need of another chronicling.

(The second rule of order: Document, Divide.)

Back into the studio with Mr. Jon Cox... Psychopath, Sexual Sadist, and RAZZLE BLASTER Tolerator Extraordinaire, Mr. Cox fell victim to irreparable emotional and psychological damage over the course of just 3 weeks. His brain had actually deteriorated into a bucket of Blue sludge, Goo if you will. Don't get mad though. These things should be expected to happen when working with members of RAZZLE BLASTER. Heck, these things should even be expected to happen TO members of RAZZLE BLASTER. Remember Drew and Flanders from Chapter 2? Well those two just simply zapped away one day leaving a putrid rotting sore along the surface of the TONSIL BOUTIQUE sector. We think it had something to do with the sudden shortage of scrap trap handlers in the Mid-West. A quick fix though. And now that "Perfect Pink" had been tracked, the 5 songs would then need to be taken across town to the "Leave-In Conditioner District" of North Hollywood, Mr. Dean Dichoso Manor for mixing, mastering and manicuring.So RAZZLE BLASTER had a product on their grubby paws but insufficient pilot power to keep it travelling across the cosmos at any sort of significant speed. This called for an emergency landing.
Another world, another time, in an age of wonder... our gooped-up heroes now find themselves in the heart of Ancient Egypt.

Chapter 4 "Rusty and The Pyramid-Gasm"

"Infinite sand and stacking of stone. Smote off it's head, the child un-known... Having a tiny headless cadaver in such primo condition on your hands can be very frustrating. Ya know?" -Rusty the Magnificent, (Around 2000 B.C.) When Tommy the "Tea Cup" Meehan and Greg the "Skinny G" Atria first arrived in the little city by the Nile, they never could have expected to find a replacement Elephant Grumbler twisted enough to slide directly into the flambe port of the TUMBLE CONE so quickly after such a violent Screwdriver implosion. But that's exactly what happened when they crossed paths with Ancient Egypts very own self proclaimed Gall Bladder Inspector and only documented necropedophile. He was calm, confident, he too had the Bronchiosaur handling capabilities of a seasoned pro. And what a dreamy smile. But it was that very smile which helped him in satiating his most depraved desires. The younglings of Cairo loved him. And he loved there splattered brains. And if it hadn't been for RAZZLE BLASTER he most surely would have killed off his supply of plump little stickball players and been left with nothing but old grannies and fruit bats. So RAZZLE BLASTER was actually rescuing him from the tiny and limited killing field that is but a jail cell, in terms of killing fields, that is also but a land that is known as Ancient Egypt. New to the team he pledged his allegiance with a brief but thorough instruction in dead child molestation. "First you gotta saw off the limbs... Saw off the limbs, penetrate the stumps, ravage the torso... whatevs." Rusty was always so casual when he talked about his "Softball History Lessons", as he had liked to call them. With their newly acquired skills, the newly formed trio decided it was time to re-enter their newly buffed TUMBLE CONE into one of the not so newly created infinite number of hyper riff worm holes del yester-year. Where they would explore next was up to the Almighty Dandruff Dad.