We narrowly avoid collapsing space and time this week. Like, that’s how bad some of this music is.
The best track of all of this batch was recorded in a bedroom. Take THAT, studio executives. You shits.
Insert joke about this album title and my personal life here.
It’s taken me a month. But I’ve finally become a master of brewing.
CanLit, smoking dope, and being truthful: things that make you happy.
Wherein I learn some lessons about siphoning, and make some decisions about branding.
Anyone want to bet that if they make a sequel, they’ll name it “The Nice Guys Finish Last”?
The Fraudsters' Almanac 