Smallpox? Malaria? We're not sure what he's diseased with, exactly, but we're sure Diseased Project is doing his part to spread the joy by contaminating his neighbor's mailboxes. Also possibly cluster bombs (we hear he's gone postal). In order to celebrate his malaise he wrote everyone a very special song, straight from the armpit of his soul. Electronica, death threats, murderous rampages, fat bass, introspective commentary on momentary lapses of sanity, break beats and dogs barking are melded together in some kind of angst ridden ode to newspapers and the bicycles by which they are delivered. If that weren't emo enough for us, we also get to hear an apparent suicide! Rejoice! Diseased Project is twisted. But who wouldn't be after all those canine spy cameras and government mind control beams and the bureucratic nonsense and the angry neighbors and the and the and the mail never stops. It just keeps coming and coming and coming, there's never a let-up. It's relentless. Every day it piles up more and more and more! And you gotta get it out, but the more you get it out the more it keeps coming in. And then the bar code reader breaks and it's Publisher's Clearing House day! Wait a second... Diseased Project... is NEWMAN! That explains it all. The fatness, baldness, the heavy breathing, the the the paper delivery.
No? Ok then, we're at a loss. Oh well.
D:
No? Ok then, we're at a loss. Oh well.
D:
song tags
