I used to have a roommate. His name was Bruce. We worked the same shitty restaurant job together and drank a lot. We were in our 20's. I'm pretty sure it's what kids still do. I sometimes wonder whatever became of him. We lost touch decades ago and he apparently doesn't have a Facebook account, so I may as yet never know. That's too bad. I'd like to say hello sometime.
That little anecdote naturally is our segue into this post featuring Couch Flambeau from Wisconsin, the Dairy State. We probably heard this played on the morning show on WMBR some bleary eyed weekday morning prepping case after case of fucking avocados for the lunch rush. It amused us. I bought it. I'd put it on mix tapes for work and we thought it was hilarious. I still think it's kind of funny. The b-side is a piss take on the Mountain classic rock tune and #1 cowbell song. It's also still pretty amusing.
So I post this now. It's dedicated to Bruce wherever his 6' 4" soulless ginger badass self is these days.
A decade later Constant Pain from New Zealand released another in our series of why it's poor design to print your sleeves with metallic paints on dark paper. They are almost always completely unreadable and any artwork is completely lost. At least there's the music to enjoy.
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