These days I know it's hard enough to find a woman who can move one beyond lust, and to find two joined at the hip that can barely move me beyond pity is sadder still.
When you take the risibly small coin from your humourless taskmasters, I accept you're both only obeying orders, yet you could at least still do so with a modicum of grace - I mean, if you don't like something, just don't go, just ignore it, just move on. You end up coming across as really fucking shallow and, yes, pathetic when your sole means of critical expression is reference to age and testosterone levels. Sort of revealing that you say nothing of this about harmless old Pierre Henry, don't you think? Next you'll both be complaining that my 8-inch dick isn't big enough for you. Ooh, such bitches. And to think I get accused of misogyny... baby, I've clearly got a lot to learn.
Oh, and 'council tax'? Now what the fuck are you talking about?? Either your shaky receptive English language skills need to be quickly upgraded for that wannabe career in low-level music journalism you harbour, or else you need an urgent irony oestrogen transplant, because what you're doing just ain't working.
I shamelessly reiterate my earlier point:
I don't care who the fuck you are, because you'll never get it. Everyone knows how full your magazine is of petty conservative white male middle-class narrowmindedness and straightlaced attitudes, what perhaps isn't immediately apparent to most is how much of that is just dressed-up stupid lazy ignorance.