(Phro wrote this review.)
(Trolling bandcamp this morning, I found the excellent Georgia grindcore band Gripe. They seems awful pissed about pigs or something…)
I hate every fucking morning, but there’s just something about Sunday morning that really just…makes me wanna fuck a possessed nun with a Molotov cocktail. And this morning is no different. I wake up and wipe the sleepies from my eyes, get out of bed, and trip over the head of a pig.
Face full of pig guts. Seriously, I mean, by now I’m really not surprised by the horrific shit I find in my apartment, but this… Ug. And it’s still warm, too. Eww…I think there’s some shit mixed in with the blood. Goddamnit.
I stand up and, covered in pig blood and little squishy flecks of pig shit, kick the head.
“Stupid fucking dead pig. I don’t even want to know where you came from.”
There’s a bottle of Four Roses, still half full. Oh, good. That’ll help me get through the day. I wander over to the computer. We need some fucking music to help me clean this shit up before the girl comes home from her business trip.