Artist description There is only one pig in my bathtub, but the bathtub isn't really mine so I am told not to care. Allright. Feels good.

Press Reviews Let it flourish. Let the stinking tubes of internal combustion vomit it's oh-so-blessed puke all over us and keep us safe from the giant spiders. Hairy, slightly more dangarouse than a bear on speed and quite big. About the size of a baseball-court. Sinking, hairy, slimy and not service-minded at all. I foresee all tragedy if time, I shoot my squirrling seemen up the rotten butt-hole of earth, ejaculating the verdict, as read by the eternal jugde dressed in rabbitskin and pure fear, in the form of millions of angry sperm-motherfuckers, ready to infest any female egg, mature, pre-puberty or senior citizen. And they gave birth to Britney Spears, every fucking last one of them. I'll execute them, but it would be like cutting the string that attaches me to what I am, the scum of heaven, the comedian in hell and on earth, on earth, nothing but a man working by an assembly-line in a factory producing machines that in it's turn are supposed to manufacture bags needed for employees of popcorn.com, the one and only site where YOU, YOU, are in charge of what's going on, and hey, we mean it. Back to the utero? Or not? What slime, what wet, white stairways and corridors and why are they pointing a gun at him? Their kinda fun? OK. I'm a sensible man, I can dig that shit. Fucking plastic-disk read by red beams, plastic pop killing their soul, smoking out any remaining wit and wisdom and making them self-destructive. I've seen it. I know what I'm talking about. I once saw him ask a policeofficer when the Police-ball was due. He asked "We policeman have no balls", and they laughed their freaking asses off, smoking weed and eating acid and with tampons dripping with absinth in their armpits, screaming, wanting to be exactly what they are and nobody else, nowhere else. That is the dream. I have almost dreamt it, but small bits are always missing. Some people have nothing but small bits, and in a way, I feel sad about that. I do. I feel empathy, belive it or not, more than before. I feel like a wine nobody really knows how's gonna turn out. Some optimistic, some pessimistic others, some lurking in between. I've got some fans. A quite a few look upon me as an insect with low popularity-score and no IQ, since insects can't be IQ-tested, nobody is intrested in their scor anyway.. But in the stinking caves where the transperant muschroomes grow, where apathy is created and where friendly drugs are forbidden. They laugh about the old days, when they used to have something real to laugh about. How stupid were they not.

Additional Info "We are lovers of unborn babies" - Ricki Lake

Location Oslo, Oslo - Norway

Copyright notice. All material on MP3.com is protected by copyright law and by international treaties. You may download this material and make reasonable number of copies of this material only for your own personal use. You may not otherwise reproduce, distribute, publicly perform, publicly display, or create derivative works of this material, unless authorized by the appropriate copyright owner(s).