[s]! conjures up a tumultuous hurricane of post-Goethe nincompoop that jabs and jars at you like an overweight boxer hungry to reconcile with his only son after years of neglect and high living on a Caribbean island with only his one-eyed snake, affectionately named, 'Bobby Tupac,' to keep him company. As fluid as a crowbar and as haunting as Judy Finnigan's bosom in all its 3D glory these compositions are sure to put lead in your pencil, if nothing else 

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