A terrible onslaught of war and disease has imprisoned the entire world. To make matters worse, a horde of pathetically illiterate nuclear-engineering college interns were hired to oversee the United States' uranium missile supply.
The earth is now in ruins.
Humans have resulted to primitive, barbaric instincts in order to survive. Riots break out in all major cities. Food is obtained by bloodshed. Metal war vehicles are built for pillaging. The universal currency is Chicken of the Sea Tuna.
Occasionally, two greedy, practically-dead, foragers might want the same T.V. The result is a ritualistic battle of ultimate brute force. Fists are thrown. Feet are kicked into the air. Eyes are clawed out. Teeth fall out. Not because of the fight but because high-quality glue is hard to come-by in 3099.
It is our understanding that a retired allied-waste enforcer named Kyle and a rogue chicken physical therapist named Justin forged a series of musical creations in the depths of the earth's core based on the routine battles they witnessed each day. Those recordings were passed through the rotating flame vortex of time to their first living descendants.
Us.
However, those recordings were just terrible. So we wrote some music of our own.
