The Audio
Welcome to the our audio page. A more recent addition to our website, it's long absence had been an oversight, as terrible audio clips are as the rob norton as terrible everything else. So we've cobbled together a collection of audio tracks for your displeasure. All of the following are improvised recordings which makes the few unterrible moments truly stand out from the rest of the juvenile goings on. Many of these clips are from the superstar underground audio collective: Radioman, whose hit single 'We don't apologize for your mistake of listening to us' is yet another giant hint of what's to come. So with that, please to be unable to endure that which endlessly follows.
Countryside
In this meaningless trifle, please to find your torture provided by the inner workings of 2 morons who, at first propose a series of ways in which to forward momentum of the meanderings of nobodies doing not much of anything, by earnestly setting about failed attempt after failed attempt to get whichever one of the aforementioned morons to, either drive or much more wisely walk nowhere, in efforting for interaction until finally the wiser of the morons is left with no option but to bomb that whichever location they idiotically have found themselves in, in a succesful, albeit relative, realization of the aforementioned wiser morons idea of pedestrian interaction. To wit:
The Timmy Tom Show
Wherein a journey to the centre of the earth takes a cruel turn into the television studios of one Timmy Tom Boy as he begins his evenings proceedings as would a baby with a cardboard box - discarding one after the other, 4 guests, none so much the musician but all so much the rattled in the thunderous grasp of his little hand until, like the empty spray paint cans that litter the graffiti strewn rooftops of his looming adolescence, the ratttle now heard is the tolling of the spent and wherein further it is shooken still until it's mother finally cries: the baby has ruined Christmas for everybody - and only then is his gift truly unwrapped.
What a Mump is
This particular solemn nugget of disaster should, with all certainty be the one audio clip you most stridently avoid as it's sum is the sum of one man's evening into late evening whereupon one's associate has acquisced to the soothing calls of slumber and one has but fortified ones self against the hearing of such soothings call and has in it's stead made the erroneous decision to mumble loudly and randomly into the night alone and has upon him had the same fate befallen as had our childhood gremlenings or likewise until and in so long as, the moon had stayed nigh and the audio tracks nay.
Headquarters
Whence the next step evolves to the next level and untowhich the subsequent headquartes in number of seven, our neer do rights ascend - from salvation through narration betwixt a series of missteps and ultimately emerge anew at what, though at it's ending, is just the beginning. The effects on our dear listener being akin to the nascent beliefs of the spotted zebra in union with the forthwith obviously patterned giraffe; which is to say upon our dear nobodies visit to not his or not her local zoo, they are fed handfully by but the creatures whose abodes they came to visit but now eternally inhabit.
Construction Site
The one that started the insanity. The full stop reason for any torture you have already suffered. Our bastard prometheus. More modern in its grotuesquity, more grotesque in it's modernity, this bad plum plucked from the devils orchard comes in one part and refuses to leave. It is truly far worse than all that would follow and that is saying something considering the dredgery this abomination; created, abandoned, and perveresly acquiesced to in a string of more monsterous, miserable brides, has wrought. If you can, please promise me you will kill it. Please. Let my life have that hope, at least .
More Coming Soon
Coming soon in this very location: more letters lined up one by one - more words cobbled together to form sentences and then paragraphs and eventually: meaning. Indeed Communication! But to what end? To this only? - this notion of something not here that one day will be? What of that which is empty space now filled with the promise of fullfillment? What witchery, what deceit that fills your soul not with nourishment but with placards - placeholders! - with the empty promise of WHAT greatness to come? Leave us with these fanciful lies, masquerading in the guise of substance - leave us at least our emptiness with its honest virtue of being empty. Unless....there's more coming soon?