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Post by Urethra Franklin on Apr 2, 2018 22:45:14 GMT
Meanwhile in Russia, the cold war has ended but the winter had nonetheless set in. A gentle hush cloaks the narrow streets as the now fading snow envelops the landscape in drifts. AntonKKK awakes to a morning mast, and with nobody to chop his wood for him, he relieves himself to side one of ManoWar's Saving The World while gazing at the album cover. It is too cold to get out of bed to turn the album to side two, so he starts thinking about an idea for a new list on his favourite forum. How about the best and worst metal album covers of the 80's? It is pure genius he whimpers to himself as he dials into his service provider. The internet is slow in Moscow after the snowstorm so he outlines his idea offline on notepad first. He switches on the television and the bald menacing figure of Vladimir Putin appears on screen telling him to insulate himself from western values and idioms, so he must somehow channel this distrust and insulation into his beloved SHiteville activity. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. It is two members of Pussy Riot offering to perform a private session for him. He ties them up and calls the Ministry of Internal Affairs to hand them in. He then sticks on side two of ManoWar's Saving The World.
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Flat Transfer
Terry Kath
Providing DR numbers for the EK 34188, DIDP 20006
Posts: 484
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Post by Flat Transfer on Apr 2, 2018 22:53:48 GMT
MYKE had had enough. His son hadn't visited him in 8 hours and not called for 1 hour. Normally when this happened, he would blast his well-used but still loved Sam Feldman signed copy of Tres Hombres; yell some obscenities at the television and soon enough CHRYS would be knocking on the door. But it hadn't worked this time. Once again, MYKE pressed the speed button on his senior mobile but again it went straight to voicemail. He barked at his son to answer him quickly and who did he think he was to leave his old man hanging like this, that this was not how he had raised him (lack of manners in general, no respect for his elders, etc.)
This sort of tirade had so far always done the trick. CHRYS once left in the middle of a job application, because MYKE had ordered him to come home immediately (he couldn't get the TV remote to work and CHRYS was always better in handling that sort of thing). MYKE felt a strange sort of pride about this. His son had never once failed him in his whole life. Real dedication. Even when he had started a family of his own, his dad stayed his #1 priority and MYKE felt absolutely no qualms about this! After all, he had endured many hardships to raise his son by himself with limited means. He had been a fantastic father! The fact that CHRYS had become such a fine upstanding citizen was ample proof.
MYKE felt another bout of rage coming up. Why was CHRYS ignoring him?!!
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Post by Sanjay Gupton on Apr 3, 2018 1:03:35 GMT
alexpop died a second time. gTrna wept into his hands, "This one hurts."
Gary Gort noticed that The Audio Home appeared to be built on a pit of snakes, and the snakes seemed to be talking to Warren Jarret. He wondered, "I wonder if snakes would make good power cords?"
Then the lights went out and a loud screech came from the Honda Civic sized speakers in the corners.
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Post by graucho on Apr 3, 2018 20:00:14 GMT
Stephen Soderbergh walking by, looks around at the pitiful display of Shites scattered, represented by a strange collection of narrators, with odd and incoherent narrative. "Wow, so these guys are hard for high end audio gear, and bits of plastic", but his thoughts are interrupted by Vidiot, who comes over to introduce himself.
"Hey Stephen", it's me Vidiot. "I just lurrve your new movie. And you really filmed it all on an iphone!".
"So radical", chirps Oatsdad, who has also noticed Stephen S and come scuttling across the street, "wonder what you're going to do next? By the way, I review online movies!".
And before long there are twenty Shites all gathered around.
"Yes", says Gary the Gort, "Do tell us, what you're going to do next!"
"Well I have an idea, thanks to you guys", starts Stephen S. "So you all spend hundreds of thousands on your hifi? That's crazy. My next movie is gonna be called Decks, Wires and Analogue Tape". You're all going to be my inspiration. It's about a group of nerds who build audio empires in their homes to shield them from the realities of life. And guess what, I'm gonna be using only an iphone again - not just for the camera but this time for all the audio as well!"
"Oh that's just genius", says Oatstad. "Can't wait to tell our master Hoffa we met you today".
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Post by aaa-appreciator on Apr 3, 2018 22:18:11 GMT
“Hoffa?? Oh, do you mean little STeVie H?” chortled Stephen. “I’m sure he would have guessed I was going to run into you guys, I told him I was heading this way when we lunched together earlier. You won’t believe what he has in store for his next secret project though...”
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Post by thepeopleschord on Apr 4, 2018 7:35:54 GMT
Then . . . a silence that might have lasted a second but seemed like a week. The twenty SHiTEs' jaws dropped simultaneously with the precision of a Rockettes number. "Tell us" they started to whisper (except for Gary the Gort, who secretly was resentful that Dear Leader hadn't told him first), a whisper that grew in volume and intensity until . . .
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Post by screendump on Apr 4, 2018 20:53:57 GMT
At that moment, back in the EMI vaults STeVE was sitting on the floor in a dreamy stupor. The style monkeys had finished their handiwork. His hair was now a magnificent fuzzy white replica of Claes Oldenburg's classic 1966 Soft Toilet pop-art sculpture.
Barry Diament appeared out of the ceiling and dropped onto the floor next to STeVE, and a second later Brian Gupton landed on top of Barry. The Shakti stones zoomed out of Barry's ass, shot across the room, and blasted the breaker panel, turning the metal structure of the building into a giant electromagnet. STeVE remained oblivious as his hairdo unravelled into a seething nest of wavy ionized tentacles. Brian panicked.
"Shit! The portal's stuck open and its polarity is reversed! Move!"
They both scuttled away just in time to avoid a cascade of debris. STeVE wasn't so lucky. His hair made only a partial shield against the avalanche of dead fish, frogs, blobs of jelly, fist-sized hailstones and vintage-but-no-longer-minty decommissioned satellite components. When it stopped he was buried up to his neck.
Brian and Barry stared while STeVE smiled and nodded in ecstasy.
They couldn't know he had been dreaming he was a Beatle, being adoringly pelted onstage by the slutty black market space-age sex toys all American teenage girls hid in their purses.
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Post by Wanklein on Apr 6, 2018 20:47:01 GMT
So although Alexpop really was dead for the second time the funeral had yet to happen as it was just a dream in Gort Jerry's warped and poisoned mind.
Bobby Marrow had still to get to the States and STeVe was strangely being transported back and forth between MYKE's workshop, Dr Groove's mastering studio and the EMI vaults.
Some weird shit was happening in Russia.
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Flat Transfer
Terry Kath
Providing DR numbers for the EK 34188, DIDP 20006
Posts: 484
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Post by Flat Transfer on Apr 9, 2018 22:29:25 GMT
Kim Fowley looked at the 14-year-old John Oteri and asked, "Have you ever been subjected to testicle torture?"
The boy now had a look of terror in his eyes, but did not run away. "My best friend STeVE says he knows what that's like", he replied. "But then, he has a habit of lying about everything. His whole world is basically made up, and that includes my very being in this room".
"I see", said Kim after a long pause. "You do look kinda old for a 14 year old boy."
"Please mister... it's the truth, my friend STeVE tells me to tell you that we're not yet old enough to drive a car. STeVE's mom dropped us off here on the strip so that we hopefully could get harassed by you or Mr. Bingenheimer; either sexually or just plain, whatever suits your needs. We came all the way from San Fernando Valley!"
"You're one messed-up kid", said Kim.
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Post by audiopro on Apr 9, 2018 23:07:24 GMT
Meanwhile, Brian Wilson was eating Farley's Rusks in Jerry's Deli, listening to a tape loop of "Be My Baby" on the personal mono that Desper had made for him, when Steve approached. "Hey, Brian. How ya doin'?" fawned Steve, just as Rocky Pamplin wrestled him to the ground while Landy tasered him. By the time he regained consciousness, he was dribbling in his sweatpants in his rocking chair. No bruises, but it all seemed so REAL to Steve.
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Post by Wanklein on Apr 22, 2018 20:37:24 GMT
A few days before the funeral of Alex Pop Bobby was opening a new packet of Frosties. Bobby shaked the frosted flakes into his ceramic cereal bowl that was decorated with pictures of Olivia running around the outside and a big picture of Cliff Richard on the inside. As the golden sugary flakes filled the bowl a small plastic packet dropped out on top of the pile of frosted goodness.
What's this enquired Bobby to himself as he examined the plastic packet. Bobby carefully read the words on a printed card contained within the plastic packet.
"WINNER - You have won a flight to USA to visit STeVe and MYKE - redeem today for tickets and $500 spending money"
Bobby was delighted and did a stupid little dance around his kitchen.
However, Bobby was soon perplexed - how did Tony the Tiger know that Bobby wanted to see the SHiTes.
Nevermind thought Bobby - Tony must be a very clever tiger - then he remembered that he wrote a letter to Tony the Tiger asking him for help to get to the states to see STeVe.
Bobby then had to make a very difficult decision - which ONJ t-shirt to wear at the funeral.
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Post by aaa-appreciator on Apr 24, 2018 19:38:33 GMT
He slid open the sliding door on his musky white mdf mirrored wardrobe reflecting the poster of Cliff on the wall behind him. He paused for a moment looking at Cliff’s lined, saggy face peering over his shoulder and imagined it was true, then surveyed his two options. On one hanger was his vintage 1976 Olivia t-shirt with an image of Livvy in a denim shirt, grinning like a simpleton and most likely thinking about labradors, and on the other hanger, option two. This was in fact an all-in-one crotchless lycra bodysuit with Olivia’s image emblazened across the front of it showing her being shafted underwater by a dolphin and came with matching headband and sweatbands. Yes it was risque, but this was Alex Pop’s funeral and surely he’d expect Bobby in his more daring PopJustice persona. “OK Liv” he said outloud to the empty room, “let’s get physical!”
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Flat Transfer
Terry Kath
Providing DR numbers for the EK 34188, DIDP 20006
Posts: 484
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Post by Flat Transfer on Dec 27, 2018 19:02:31 GMT
STeVE looked at the Scully. It had been sitting there since 2004. Now the moment had come to unwrap its carton & seal. STEVE had so far resisted selling it on ebay and with good reason; it was one helluva machine and now it was gonna help him getting back into business. The announcement had just been made on the forums, now all he had to do was find some clientele. How hard could that be?
STeVE thought about that time when he and Kev cut lots of lacquers. Well, actually Kevin had cut them, but he had decided on those all-important EQ curves and he gotten to sign his famous "SH" signature on the deadwax, next to Kevin's "KG". People LOVED those audiophile pressings. Even today, they were still much sought after and only because STeVE had worked on them.
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Post by audiobile on Dec 27, 2018 20:14:54 GMT
Just then, the Hairy Bogmother appeared in a flash of fog and with deep stentorian tones commanded, "STEVE! Your task is to remasterbate The Beagles, with a "G"."
STEVE was gobsmacked, or was it bogsmacked. All these years he'd thought his ultimate porpoise in life was to remasterbate Beatles, but it was Beagles all along! How could his Golden Ears have failed him? How, he wondered, and how again? Gosh, and rfreebird, the Mastermind of the Beagles, was a tool on his very own forum! To think of it!
STEVE needed the Beagles master tapes, and fast. The Scully wouldn't wait. Already its metallic telepathic voice was bludgeoning his brain, softly but softly, with vague murmurings like those he sometimes heard when slowly but slowly emerging from a Vicodin haze. "Only you can curate the tapes," it said. "Only you can give them the Breath of Life(tm)".
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Post by Talky Tina on Dec 28, 2018 0:15:15 GMT
Lon Von Eaton was in a foul mood. His ugly wife had been nagging all day. He was about to reach a breaking point.
For years, his mental condition had been fairly stable but lately a steady decline had been setting in. This resulted in extreme mood swings and occasional bouts of violence. Usually his wife would be at the receiving end, although a few weeks earlier he had also given a former client a piece of his mind. Lon did not regret this. He knew why he had done it, and the person in question was an insufferable idiot.
Suddenly he heard the doorbell ring.
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