ALONE WITH THE ALONE
Well, blokes, it’s been a long week on the run after our missionary trip to Fallujah where Pitumbo and yours truly drove the insurgents bloody apeshit by whizzing on their strongholds. But blimey, if not for us and the inspired bomb-metal-rock of the right-pissed chaps who call themselves TIME IN MALTA, Operation
Wee On Iraq would have ended dreadfully.
As it were, my dear Pitumbo nearly blew my blessed pecker to Kingdom Come. After snorting some meth and giving a listen to the ranting ANTHRAX-like mayhem of "Catalyst" and "Louder Than Bombs," the little sod rigged a mine to my sweaty bollocks as I slept. Crikey! To my great fortune, he passed out in a tiny puddle of his stank vomit before he could arm it.
Chaps, if you intend on blowing someone up, or cranking out the heavy artillery, get pickled and put on
Alone With The Alone starting with the fourth track (the first three, I must say, are like rubbing your Willie against razor wire— all well and good if you are uncircumcised, as is our favorite pygmie).
The second half of the album is luvvly jubberly as they say, as satisfying as soaking Abu Ghraib prisoners in yellow-brown fever whizz. (If you’re reading this, your majesty, Pitumbo and I merely watched, we swear). It gets better because the group adds some chords to Todd Gullion’s nerve-gassed vocals and gives the old noggin’ some breathers.
Pitumbo already has every song on his Ipod which he snatched from a rich fucknut in the Red Cross tent. And we are escaping on a lorry pronto, headed to Tora Bora to see if we can’t wage urinary warfare against the Al Qaeda.
It is my firm belief, blokes, that every soldier should have TIME IN MALTA. If they did, they’d fight like they had a hundred bees stuck up their bums and I would be free to whizz on other rogue nations with my WMD - my
Willie of Mass Destruction.
