Review Summary: The Orange Monopoly Towns
Hey! Hi. You look familiar. Haha, oh I do? funny well maybe I have a double because I definitely don’t know you. Uncanny valley, meet the Proteus effect! Huh? Nevermind, Cleo, but yo, babe, take me back, back to the…back to the shack…enough, scratchums: back to the drawing-board. Finishing the unfinished,
Songs from the Black Hole, Uranium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator, get me out of here. We’re just hanging out, man. Relax, everything will be waxy, right? Swipe right. Wax off. Shadow of the. Zure. We. Sputnik, Toby turning screwdrives the point home – “painfully navel-gazing excuses for reviews…it’s basically a huge circle jerk” – dotdotdot Colossal wasteland the end. Four winds, four rivers: Rivers come home, Rivers me back, shivers me Rivers: actually three rivers, red blue green. Apply directly to the forehead. Eye talk to the wind. Une histoire sans queue ni tête. Rad. Blew it. Grin.
Must now be serious, under after all the overearth pretenders to open yon End, all right then, express the view: he cannot: too bad, too classics then the green scorched earth and hill saliva music, with the sounds of. The Interview. Hey! Left. This is the end, frankly, Toby may exaggerate but by the black holy ghost of Cooper McNolan (uh, neglefted) onward, unward now needlestitched scottiedog, gimme gimme behavior buddy. The transversal. Re: the fourscore. Sometimes it doesn’t seem so bad. Delivery along time. Divested of suits the Rivers folds. Sunshine, sunshine, he babbles, forgive my subverged kissassery, radio’s a steed I rode ‘em coyboy the Wild West Radio. Anamused, we wait. Again hell make clichés the road less traveled soysay soxsex seesaw, hurley up coyboy! Again! Again! The End! No! Rivers shan’t exsquat, Marv, lawd have painfully navel-gazing mercy on my soul, on our paws. Pos! Left-Right-Left. Keep cadence, candid oh we lost another one. Abandon sh
it. Peeeyouuu. Meanwhile the musicians. Like it’s ninetyfour. Single. Shotgun shack. Bears with me. You here? You still here? Take me back. Stay. Doggy paddling around valent Proteus like mad, but why? Redshift blueshift oneshift twoshift. Doppler Zeus. A zure thing. Slam. Black Mirror. Foolish Father. The British, you wonder, is that a metaphor? For the industry perhaps or internal tension in band or in all musical projectory? Founding Fathers. That’s it. Works for me. No probably not. Go away now. No.
