Tina here. I'm thinking I might have a go at some of the Angel Of Anarchy's ranting today. Don't know if it will translate well to print. Shall I attempt?
Has a little thing like that ever stopped you before? I didn't hear him I was too busy gazing at the moon and the Pontiff. Was he in full rant and rave mode tonight er today...
Anyway if this email doesn't download soon I'm off.
Sidney Eliz II Windsor Vicious
Steve John Paul II Jones
Paul Scales of Justice Cook
John Mrs. Thatcher Rotten.
With the line-up complete, we immediately set about putting our plan into effect...
Tina again. It appears that St. Stephen was overtaken again by The Angel of Anarchy, warning us that we will all be defied and defiled. At least he gave notice. We've met The Angel before, it's just that he hadn't until now revealed his name. He is difficult to portray as he tends to appear only in backlogs, announcing songs and making pronouncements. One has to hear him in order to fully grasp his ominousness.
Where had it come from, this Angel of Anarchy? What was it's purpose - to cause as much fuss and controversy as possible. Bahahahahahahah!
Chriswasanon should have gone to Art School...I heard a little of the rebroadcast last night and that voice is so loaded with menace and an awful foreboding of things to come, things that we lonely scribes cannot possibly comprehend except through consulation of the Akashic record. Now deep in the stygian dungeons - isn't this not a whit alike to the Hallow'een show when Steve played the whole of Screamin' Lord Sutch's, "Jack the Ripper?" So deek you then at yon white robed awful mage, the Haly Pontiff. See he cooketh up unnamed punishments in bulletined thou shalt nots for all Jacobites by name. Lend an ear lend an ear. Number 8 number 8 number 8.
From doctrinal grimoires that whisper in black illuminated letters of the dark terrors. These sent to seep fear and creeping colly wobbles into the bairn-like hearts of all. With his crozier he stirs the pot of now and from the future tosses the willing supplicants into the cauldron where their supine bodies fall with ane foul hiss into the fug and smirr of his concentration. This act of surrender shall bring consuming power to his myspace profile page. But something more drives him forward. Can he but now retrieve that off-white Les Paul lazlo custom Gibson guitar with the two bird stickers from way back in the last century, then the Moorcockian Maol Chalum Mac Labhrainn ‘son of Labhrann' circle will be fulfilled. The pogoing pissing hordes will rise once more from their punk wood slump and the cry of Anarchy peace and freedom will be heard on the lips and in the deeds of all throughout the Interland. Improbably. Now read on...
Or is it just Mr. Shov ell's busy fingers on the mixing board making creepy voices?