3

Evil Robot Writes:

"The band is pretty much falling apart. If we don’t get a gig or write a new track, I’m just gonna go fuckin’ loose and stab Turkey in the side of his head with a spork. I’m worried about the bird flu. We need to fight back with nanotechnology. Where the fuck is Dale? I refuse to be taken seriously. Knollie’s solution is to chat up birds on bloody myspace. He’s added two hundred girls in the local vicinity and proceeds to badger them with inane absurdities. They'll think we're fucking desperate stalkers.

We need gigs, but I’m racked with self loathing. Empower the brain! Suppress the disempowering energy! It just happens when everything you’re about is full of shit. Oh well. Do what you do do well. And we do it with distinction.

Maybe Romantech will get us a gig. CD release party for this cd-r coming up, which was gonna be a CD which we were apparently “not professional enough” to be on – . . . it's because he’s working on tunes with Hazel again. That fucking whore. What are our chances of finishing a track with him now? Not that we need the fucking prat."