The Platinum Album

It's shit. All their songs are shit. Profoundly shit...

Clothes label Diesel are trying to freak us out, man, with their ‘surreal’ adverts. Pah! Amateurs! Unfit to lace the highly polished dolphin-skin jackboots of the head-fuck pop phenomenon known as [a]Vengaboys[/a].

Who are they? What are they? What are they trying to say? [a]Vengaboys[/a] go beyond ‘bland’ and into some twisted nightmare dimension where the blatant promotion of loose-knickered, tit-flashing, pansexually promiscuous two-fisted pig-fuckery meets The Smurfs.

, on ‘Uncle John From Jamaica’, you shiver. Like a dog. Like a very [I]cold [/I]dog.

[a]Vengaboys[/a] are the abyss that Neecher warned us not to look into. So don’t.

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