We'll pass on that offer, cheers
What’s your problem, John? War, actually. That and famine. And vampires. And poverty. And sinking ships. And forest fires! And epidemics! And demonic possession and comets and mass! Fucking! Hysteria! These are the things that play upon John Congleton’s mind. Or the prospect of them does, at least, this being unfulfilled angst Bright Eyes-style, littered with Oberst-like frustrated barks and wails. It’s decent in places but it’s just… you know that feeling you get when someone you love is so wracked with pointless worry that you just want to shake them and shake them until they snap out of it? Yeah, it’s a bit like that, except I don’t love John Congleton so I just want to hit him until he stops talking.
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