- 6 years ago
Playing tracks by
damn chicken was sleeping in my coat. it ran through the dance-floor and jumped through a hole. punks kick off the cement in the basement strangling their microphones. crackerjack puppetry and analog free for all upstairs. flaming barbecues in rows. greasy grinning blokes choke on there own laughter as they turn the flaming spits and play pool. we get down to acid house. mustard factory. watermelons explode. endless little stalls of artistoids. yelping we crawl out of a mustard silo and dodge the hi dive only to get soaked by a belly flop.