Points are immediately deducted for the fuck me stupid mountain princess recording collective sending this as a shitty looking "cheap promo copy". So if its expected that I grant this CDR the compulsory Foxy Digitalis 10/10 for true head-scratchers - now you know why.

This disc is totally fucking wasted-psych, man. A crustation of such epic bloodymindedness that one has to confront what they're willing to put up with. Would you not allow your hairdresser to tape your beard to his fanny and give you a lap dance? Would you refuse to have the seat of your khakis caked in chocolate pudding at a barmitzvah, so a fantastically unshapely bagel-dog can chew at your inseams? If not then this may not be the disc you would want to throw on at any point in your life. We start off in what seems like a flakey version of one of Lee Ranaldo's mid-ninties Beat-style excursions and quickly devolves into some bad-ass audio montage combining pseudo-commentaries on chimerical varmint, sound effects and cracked-out synth lines. Lots of things going on here, mostly utilizing the voice and the possibilities of line-processing and sampling. Its enough to give a red-headed step-child ADD and some kind of mind degenerating ailment that renders him a blathering fuck-up in the mail-room or janitor closet. True skit-comedy for schizoids and people that laugh inexplicably to themselves on public transit. FMSMPRC: if you're reading this PUHLEAZE send me an actual copy. But don't bother if promo means "not spray painted". 8/10 -- Andrew Zukerman (17 July, 2006)