2. When you finally arrive in Flavortown after a long day of traveling.

  3. someoneatethis:

    "Well, I KNOW I like cookies so I’ll get three of those. Not sure on the potato wedges… maybe just two. Penne is just okay so three pieces of that. I want five chips, and of course I’ll need a little cup of nacho cheese. Not too much, you see. And I guess a mouthful of macaroni wouldn’t hurt."

    -Excerpt from Inside the Mind of a Serial Killer

  5. next wednesday last show before Angie 🇺🇸 U.S.A🇺🇸 tour come along friends it’s a free party


  6. ripsocietyrecords:


    Peter Escott, “My Heaven My Rules” from The Long O (2014)

    From Escott’s forthcoming LP on Bedroom Suck / Fire, looking to be a stunner.

    Peter is really a really smart, interesting and unique guy. I’m excited for everything he is involved in and the things he will make in the future. You probably already know his band with Julian Teakle, The Native Cats. He also has a great podcast ( http://escottandroy.libsyn.com/ ) and writes/performs comedy. I hope he gets to make a TV show one day.

    Peter Escott could literally piss on a tin roof and it would sound great - great song

  7. maskdeuh:

    a Bristol squat - home of hardcore Punks DISORDER

    from UK/DK footage.


    (via oldpunkguy)

  8. alienhatefaery:

    flashback to when I was sexy

  9. how fucking sloppy do russian separatists look compared to ISIS?


  10. Ahhh the Wednesday night at the Flinders Hotel slot.  She’s a tough one.  Up there with a Tuesday at X&Y, the metal slot at the bald faced stag parramatta rd or a some limp dick mixed bill at hibernian.  Those shows that make you ask "what the fuck am i doing? playing this bullshit music that everyone hates, lugging this piece of shit amplifier up and down stairs, spending hundreds of dollars on rehearsal spaces, repairs, misc bullshit like leads for a rider of 2 midstrength lagers when some bitch with an ipod makes 5 times as much as my entire band at some shit cunt warehouse party at some Uber only accessible warehouse in fucking woollahra?"

     but on you go, filled with dying passion, a martyr for your vague and fleeting craft, slowly becoming a fucking washed up alcoholic piece of shit unable to maintain a steady relationship with anyone or anything apart from your sense of duty to scattered, untenable concepts of music, writing and art

     also $5 locals come along!