Sunday, October 21, 2007

Neu Lowes

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

Ah Isaak? Did you do anything else of note?

3:52 PM, October 12, 2007

Robert said...

If you mean to the blog... no...
It's Daly's job anyway.
Though the player doesn't seem to be doing as it should at the moment...
It should be playing my playlist but it's just showing the finetune artist radio options.

There are plans for this shithole. However they have been in gestation for at least a year so don't hold your breath.

In a perfect world I would like more personalisation. Picture folders and my own videos. That kind of shit.
Must write more too.
More readers as well. Motherfuckers.

6:42 PM, October 12, 2007

Uhh, I meant Isaak.

But, yeah. Roll on with the videos and other such gumption.

10:25 AM, October 18, 2007

'Well that conversation was a fucking train wreck,' thought Daly, 'A lot like this fucking blog in fact... and who's fault is that? I don't know.'
Daly repeated the words 'I don't know,' over and over until he began to believe it. The truth was he was reluctant to point the finger of blame over the blog's failure at himself, partially because he couldn't be bothered and partially because he knew Rob would do it for him.
Secretly Daly enjoyed those moments when Rob would say "So have you done anything with the blog?" knowing that he hadn't. These moments would take one of two paths; Daly would say 'no' and Rob would respond with 'I know, you fuck,' or Daly would say 'yes.' When Daly said 'yes' Rob would casually wander out and check the blog before returning with 'No you didn't, you fuck.'

The truth (part 2) was that the blog had been dead for a long time now. The injection of Mike and Kelly had been like an adrenaline shot on a fully decomposed corpse. In fact if it weren't for the brave efforts of Ultra Toast to occasionally check on our progress then this blog would literally be a single person literally talking to themsleves like they were talking to other people. Thanks to the Toast however the blog remained like the adrenaline fuelled corpse, animatedly thrashing in its grave, twisting and spasming constantly, though its brain remained resolutely dead.

New lows.


  1. Well, you are a fuck.
    This is bullshit.
    Fuck off.

  2. This whole piece paints me as some kind of twisted torturer who takes amusement in reanimating dead bodies.

    Which I like.