Who's going to see The Killers at Hyde Park tomorrow? Me that's who! And you? Well you're not going, no sir. I'm going. I am. To see The Killers. Hard Rock Calling. Hyde Park. To. Mo. Rrow.
Brandon Flowers is such a tart. But a hot one of course.
I just turned 20. Is it right for me to speak in retardanese and only construct the most diminutive sentences know to man? Well I do not know. What I do know is that I am going to make The Killers' day tomorrow by bringing my bright eager countenance to their presence.
Oh the joys of feeding off brilliant people in brilliant media careers meeting extra brilliant goals and receiving such perks as concert tickets. Perhaps the music gods cocked an ear up (note the 'up' - they're all down in hell) to my music-related woes a few days ago. I was complaining profusely about the lack of live talent and colossal selling out of great talent within seconds. I was of course skint as well. At present though, I'm quite content with the state of sound so I have stopped locking my dad in the shed (or whatever room within good proximity) for not conceiving me sooner so that I could appreciate the 70s and 80s radio times. This is a temporary armistice though, let me be clear, he's still incompetent with timing.
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