Thursday, February 11, 2010

Baseball Furies - Throw Them To The Lions
Big Neck

Viscerally bristlesome angular agitations of such gristle-gnawing garage gutter-punches from Chicago's blistered bowels with a national supply of unclear bunkers that they could fry bacon on your constipated, discombobulated internal assemblages, baying such mayhem that if you did throw these barstados to the lions they'd probably go bug-eyed with blithe glee before jumping in backwards to emerge bewigged with the lions hair branching out their ass Iggy ostrich feather style. Yuss, subterranean bone vs brick obtuse NYC-splintered splenetic slouch like Dead Boy Placemats dispersing primetime cuts that'd be banned from prim-brim Television and blinked at by Pere Ubu, possibly entombed in rockets and sentenced to forced repatriation to side-street safehouses, which only suffuses their already sanguine anger for when they next loiter in parking lots near the secure punk compounds. Dark, dank, dishevelled and creepy noir-notes from the homicide of life to be devoured readily, greedily and fucking graciously, goddamit, if not gracefully.
Stu Gibson

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