J. Edgar Hoover awakens after a torrid night of ballroom dancing.
His dress in tatters.
His hair a tangled mess.
His lipstick smeared diagonally across his face and down his double-chin into a crimson concoction of sweat, dried cum and cocaine residue.
Somewhere across the river, in the worst part of town, Montgomery Clift slithers out from in between Francis Farmers thighs.
The rot is finally starting to bother him, and homosexuality is the flavour of the day.
He lights a cigarette, and places it in her lifeless mouth.
"You've come a long way, baby."
Mark David Chapman cleanes his gun with the tears of a thousand Lilliputians.
Charlie Manson makes love to a young Michelle Philips as she stares at Dillinger's cock in a whiskey bottle.
123 years earlier, she's shot in the face by a bank robber claiming to be a scientist, and goes on to prove that there is no life in the void and god is truly a deadman.
Linda Lovelace nurses sad children at a trailer-park in Wyoming, as their parents die slowly of an unknown contagion that the World Health folks still maintain is nothing but a bad case of The Mondays.
John Holmes masturbates, but still can't get hard.
Alistair Crowley is haunted by Lovecraft, and Lovecraft is haunted by Allan Greenspan.
Woody Allen praises god for all that he has received.
The Devil smiles because he knows the punch-line.
Robert Johnson wonders why the crossroads are so quiet today.
Band biographies are pointless piles of self-indulgent garbage.
No...seriously. They’re fucking useless.
I mean, does anybody really care about how old you were when you started playing guitar?
Does it really make a difference how many unsigned, unknown, and completely unimportant rock bands you played in when you were in high school?
Will it enhance my musical experience if I am told about the girl you dated in your late teens who cheated on you with her design prof. and subsequently dumped your lazy, pot-smoking, guitar picking, biography writing ass?
The answer is simple.
The answer is no.
Therefore, the members of the Satanic Rock & Roll combo known as YOU HANDSOME DEVIL have chosen to say absolutely nothing about their extraordinarily spectacular band and how great it is.
No way. Not these guys.
You couldn’t possibly get them to yammer on endlessly about their stellar live performances.
And they won’t waste your time describing the inner facets of their patented brand of rock & roll.
They won’t even make mention of their winning personalities, or of their dashing good looks...
believe me, that was a hard one.
They simply don’t need to sell you on anything.
If you like it, turn it up.
If you hate it, go to Hell.
Either way you’ll be listening to
YOU HANDSOME DEVIL.
Hey dudes, thanks for adding. Glad you like the tunes. Also, still with Bomb Squad, but on the down low right now. I'm diggin' your tunes as well. Hope to make it out to a show.
Thank You so much for being my friend!! i so appreciate having you!!! Seems to me you got it going on!! It's amazing what we can accomplish with desire, hard work and believing in ourselves!! If you get a second i'd appreciate you check out my version of Etta James classic AT LAST!!!
Forget that last comment. Don't try the song download link I sent to you. I have to use a different file sharing site. Back to the proverbial drawing board for me...
Online!