Okay, here’s the top three things I use the internet for – 1) checking out porn, 2) as a research tool for when I’m writing and 3) surfing the net for completely pointless yet oddly entertaining websites. Today I’m going to kill two birds with one stone. Yes I’m going to combine nos. 2 and 3 by writing about a few of the strange websites I’ve come across over the years. Hell, I may manage a hat trick by the end of the day and reward myself with some no. 1 if I get this article written in enough time.

I don’t know why these websites exist, but damn am I glad they do. They’re the perfect time killers, especially on a day like today when it’s raining outside, there’s nothing good on TV, and you just can’t be bothered working on the manuscript for that novel that’s been sitting quietly in your hard-drive for the past year, like a pile of dried up dog shit in the corner of the room that nobody wants to clean up. I’ve avoided the obvious ones like YouTube , ebay, Facebook, Bebo, MySpace…ect., and stuck with lesser known ones. Quite a few of these websites look as if they’re made on a limited budget and created and hosted from a bedroom by just one lone dork with a deep passion for ironic cultural references; and to me that’s what the internet is all about.

www.MenWhoLookLikeKennyRogers.com

When I turned 30, I made a promise to myself that within another 30 year’s time, I would bear a passing resemblance to Jerry Garcia and it’s a promise I intend to keep, despite my wife’s aversion to facial hair –who needs a sex life when you can grow a big, fluffy beard instead? Deep down inside, however, the celebrity that I would really most like to resemble is uber-awesome country star, Kenny Rogers. After all isn’t Jerry Garcia just a Kenny with glasses and a lot less maintenance?

Kenny Rogers is arguably the coolest country western singer on the planet. Admittedly that’s not saying much since there’s only maybe about five people from the entire country western genre that could actually qualify as being cool, and three of them are dead.

Sure, the Gambler’s got a fantastic singing voice – nice and silky without the much of that obnoxious good ol’ boy twang that so many country singers have these days. It’s middle of the road: manly but not macho, sensitive but without making him sound like a total pussy (y’hearin’ me, Aaron Neville?) He has a voice that’s ideal for crossing over into the pop charts – which he’s done, many times over. Yes, Kenny Rogers is the perfect entertainer for the mostly middle aged suburbanites that can’t handle today’s rock music, but aren’t quite redneck enough for country. Okay, so maybe Kenny isn’t really that cool after all.

But what puts Kenny on the cool list is his immaculate silver mane and perfectly trimmed beard. It’s a look that every white American male over the age of 50 aspires to, yet so few achieve. I’ll never forget my father calling me at 3 a.m. a few years ago, this once proud and strong man now a broken wreck, crying as he confessed to me over the phone that he would never be able to achieve the look of Kenny because his beard was just too patchy. Most men, once they hit their late 30’s or early 40’s are prone to male-pattern baldness and a middle-age spread brought on by years of donuts, beer and office work, will never come close to achieving the dream Therefore we must honour those who have and that’s what MWLLKR is all about.

The website is just that – a celebration of all those brave men who have committed themselves to the ‘Kenny’ look and have succeeded (albeit to varying degrees.) The bulk of the site is a gallery with page after page of photos of Kenny look-alikes from around the world. That there are so many shouldn’t come as a surprise, because who doesn’t want to look like Kenny? As the website proves, even other celebrities yearn to look like Kenny (including the late Who bassist John Entwhistle, Earnest Hemingway, Gen. Robert E. Lee, Papa Smurf and God.)

If you’re having trouble finding a ‘Kenny’ the site has a list of places where you’re most likely to find them – try state fairs, airports, Waffle House, Boot World, pawn shops, and A.A. meetings. And for those of you who are thinking about taking up the ‘Kenny’ look, there’s a section that offers helpful tips on how to achieve that iconic style – “grow hair longer than is currently fashionable, if it’s not white or grey, seek a professional stylist for colouring, or baby powder will do in a pinch.”

Oddly enough there are some people out there who aren’t into Kenny Rogers. Not everyone thinks a white beard and feathered mullet is a good look to have; and there are some who just don’t care for his music either. But the one thing you can’t deny is that the man can cook a mean bird. Yep, I’m talkin’ bout the rotisserie chicken from world famous Kenny Roger’s Roasters. Back in the day, this restaurant chain was so awesome, it even inspired an episode of Seinfeld. And if that doesn’t put Kenny on your cool list, then…well, then you’ve got some serious mental problems, my friend. Sadly, these restaurants are all but gone, having been brought out by Nathan’s, the hotdog chain in 1999 and subsequently restructured. But you can still get those tasty corn muffins that came as a side on every meal thanks to the recipe posted on MWLLKR.

The only problem I have with this site is that it appears to have been abandoned. The last winner of the ‘Kenny of the Month’ was in May of 2005. The site may be a one-trick pony, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be updated once in awhile. After all, there are still so many Kenny’s out there and their story needs to be told.
********

www.maddox.xmission.com (a.k.a. The Best Page In The Universe)
If you think cynical, sardonic assholes are just the wittiest thing ever, then boy are you in luck!
This is basically just one huge blog: the author, some dude who calls himself Maddox, bitching and ranting about everything under the sun from the iPhone to people who use puns. What sets him apart from the countless other bloggers on the internet is that well, for starters, he’s actually pretty well informed, unlike say, your Uncle Bob from Missouri who simply parrots whatever he’s heard from Rush Limbaugh or Fox News. Not only that, he’s actually funny. For example, here’s his take on Dave Matthews Band:
‘Dave Matthews fans are like the trans-fats of fandom: oversaturated with obnoxiousness, found everywhere, and impossible to get rid of; for example, they only refer to the band as DMB... you can't abbreviate the word 'band' assholes, it's a band by virtue of the fact that there is more than 1 person in it, and for the record, adding the word 'band' to your name doesn't make you any less of an egotistical shit head). Man, you know what I hate? Dave Matthews.
‘It's the whitest band ever, which is saying something considering 3 of the members are black, and Dave Matthews is literally an African American (born in South Africa). His music can be heard in Whole Foods stores, Live Earth concerts, or blasting from the speakers of open-topped Jeeps parked on curbs everywhere. The typical fan is either some dude wearing khaki cargo shorts replete with dangling rock climbing hooks, even though he doesn't hike because he can't afford to drive his gas-guzzling Jeep, or some chick with huge boobs, buck teeth, and an ankle-length floral skirt that she twirls around like an idiot because she thinks her awesome boobs give her enough social capital to make up for the buck teeth and hairy toes (they don't): ‘
Okay, I’ll admit, I’m a bit bias because I happen to agree with him – I too, can’t stand Dave Matthews Band or its annoying fan base. They’re the type of people who will vote for Obama in the general election, without even knowing anything about his policies or his stance on the issues, solely out of political correctness – but that’s some funny shit going on.
Aside from one or two columns about George Bush, Maddox, perhaps wisely, avoids talking politics and religion, and instead concentrates on taking pot shots at everyday annoyance – such as formulaic Hollywood block busters, advertising, Ben Stiller and people in general. Another favourite target is children. Check out ‘More Crappy Children’s Artwork’ for his reviews of kiddies’ refrigerator scrawls:
‘Ding Ding! Here comes the shit-mobile. I've never seen a fire truck that needed to be shaved. I would rather be burned to death than be saved by this hairy piece of shit. F’ He writes of 8-year-old Jon’s drawing of a fire truck.
It’s a bit odd. I could look at this website all day (and I often do), but if I had to hang around someone this negative and bitchy in person, I’d probably end up hanging myself. On one hand you’re laughing your ass off at Maddox’s scathing commentary, but on the other hand you want to tell the guy to lighten up a little, maybe even toss him a fifty or something so he could go downtown and treat himself to a piece of ass or something…anything to get him to chill out a little bit.
The Best Page in The Universe recently celebrated its 10 year anniversary. The website and its creator have achieved a sort of cult status over the years, spawning t-shirts, a comic book, a radio show and a best-selling book ‘The Alphabet of Manliness.’ Maddox created an industry out of one cheap-ass looking website, and he’s done this all by word of mouth. Most importantly however, he’s got a mention in Wikipedia. If that’s not impressive, then I don’t know what is.
The danger of achieving this sort of cult status is that we now have a shit load of imitators online. As blogs become increasingly prevalent, more people are offering their ignorant, unasked opinions on such stupid topics as ‘my boss sucks,’ ‘here’s a photo of my pet cat wearing a tiny fireman’s outfit, doesn’t he look silly?’ and ‘no, I mean it, my boss REALLY sucks. In fact, I hate him so much I’m going to sneak into his office one night and take a shit in the middle of his desk.’ And before you say anything –yes, I’m aware of the irony.
The only other problem with this site is its infrequent updates. For example, the most recent post ‘Nobody Cares if Your Puns were Intended’ is dated May 31; the post before that ‘Vague Genre Movie (April Fool’s 08)’ was updated on April 1. Okay, so your thinking its updated sort of semi-monthly. But the post after that ‘Fashion Tips for Women from a Guy Who Knows Dick About Fashion’ has a post date of October 29, 2007! And the one before that is in July! WTF?!!? I read somewhere that Maddox recently gave up his day job for this, so what the fuck’s he been doing? I can appreciate that this has been a one-man operation but still, when your output is less than what it was when you had a full time job, you’ve got something to answer for. My fear is that he’s getting tired of doing this shit and his output will eventually peter out, so that like the MWLLKR website we’ll be left with nothing but 5-year old posts about why the Dave Matthews Band is so lame.

************
www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
I first heard about this website in an article from a magazine I was reading ( I think it might have been in an issue of ‘Shortlist,’ but I can’t be certain.) It intrigued my sense of curiosity towards dumbness enough to have a looksey. And, yup, it’s plenty dumb alright.

The site is built around the premise that white people (W.A.S.P.S. in particular) are lame and therefore like lame stuff. It’s comprised of a list of over 100 topics of interest to white people such as 76.) bottles of water, 36.)breakfast places, 16.) gifted children and 1.) coffee. Click on a topic and you’re taken to an explanation as to why said topic appeals to white people as well as posts from idiots who feel the need to point out that just because they’re white doesn’t make them lame – and they’re one, token black friend will vouch for them.

Implied accusations of racism aside; this website is just really stupid. Worse still, it’s not even funny. I might identify with some of the references linked to my suburban upbringing in the American Midwest, but I also identify with some of the references in Jeff Foxworthy’s ‘You Might Be a Redneck If…’ routine, and that’s a helluva lot funnier. In fact the funniest thing about this website is its title.

If this review has proved one thing, it’s that I’ve obviously I’ve got too much time on my hands. Those are just a few of the websites that you can check out. The Internet is loaded with goofy little numbers like these, so feel free to look around and if you’ve a goofy website that you’d like me to know about, send me an email. As for me, I’ve got a little free time left, so it’s time for a little bit of No. 1.

Happy surfing everybody.

-B.H. 22/06/08

Hi everybody. Sorry I ain't writtne in awhile but I've had alot of crazy shit going on.
okay, first off, remember that karaokee night at the Silver Fish that I tol' youse about? Well, one a the prizes that wuz up fer grabs wuz a set of golf clubs; an' it turns out those clubs wuz the same ones that wuz stolen from the back a Joe's car (remember, Ned and his crew were in charge of collecting the prizes for the competition.) So, Joe was fuckn' mad. He saw the mamagram on the side a the bag wit' his initials - JAM an' says 'That's my fuckin' bag! What are ye playin at?'
....

Ah shit, my boss just came by an' saw me online. So I'm gonna have ta finish this later. Bye!

Well, we had our first annual karaoke night at the Silver Fish last week an’ ta be honest, it was kinda crap. Fer starters, the party supply company totally botched up the order. I had asked them for balloons and streamers an’ a banner an shit for a karaoke night, right? The balloons an’ banner were gonna have musical notes or say karaoke night or some sorta shit like that. Well, they gave me the balloons an’ banner an’ stuff, except instead of it being for our karaoke night, it was all stuff meant to be for some dude’s funeral.
I didn’t even notice it until I got to the Silver Fish an’ we started to put up the decorations. I blew up one a the balloons an Ernie shouts out “What the fuck?”

“Huh?”

“Look at your balloon. Take a look at what it says.”

I turn the balloon around so that the letterin’s facing me. ‘Sorry for your Loss’ it says.

“What the fuck?!”

Ernie blows up another balloon. This one says ‘Our Deepest Condolences.’ One a the old geezers sitting at the bar start laughing.

Ernie lets go a the balloon an’ an it lets off this screechy fart as it flys across the bar. He shakes his head an’ looks at his watch. “We’re opening in an hour. You better straighten things out wit’ those tossers.”

So I get all the stuff and run back over to the party suppliers. I slam the shit on the counter an’ this kid working the till looks at me indifferently.

“What the hell, man,” I says. “These are for a funeral.”
“Aye, so?”

“We’re having a karaoke party tonight.”

“Cool, can I come?”

“No, I mean this stuff is supposed to be for a karaoke party, not a funeral.”

The kid yawns. He’s got a large zit on his chin. It’s bright red with a yellowy- white centre filled with puss. I’ve got an urge to reach over an squeeze it until it bursts. Finally he calls his manager over – this fat broad with a pierced nose – an tells her what’s going on. She asks if I’ve got a receipt. I don’t.

“Aye,” she says. “Ah’m very sorry, sir, but there’s no much we can do. We’ve got a no refund policy, an’ it’s too late for us to re-do your order.”

“Ahh fuck,” I say. “what the hell am I gonna now?”

“Well, we’ve got this cake for ye. It’s supposed to be part o oor funeral package, so it’s yers if you’d like?”She brings out this cake in the shape of a coffin. Its covered in white frosting with pink trim an’ letters on top. It says ‘Deepest Sympathies in Your Time of Loss.’

*************

A couple hours later, the decorations are up an people start filtering in. It’s regulars for the most part; they don’t say nothing ‘bout the balloons; probably don’t even notice ‘em. We joined a coupla tables together for the snacks an’ cake. I licked the letterin’ off the cake an’ took a coupla bites so it wouldn’t look too coffin-y. Not a bad tasting cake – strawberries an’ rhubarb, I think. Nobody else is touched it though.

I’ve got a table near the stage, waiting for Joe an’ my sister to show up. I’ve got a pint a Stella an’ finishing off a curry from the takeaway across the street. I’ve also got a paper plate filled with crisps an’ stuff from the snack table. I’m tryin’ hard not to get any food on my glittery shirt ‘cos I wanna look as good as possible for my stage debut tonight.

Ned an a bunch a his pals come in. They’re all wearin’ matching shell suits – white with powder blue trim. One a them’s got a Rangers cap pushed back to the back of his head. Ned’s wearing a cap, too, ‘cept his is a red and green New York Yankees cap. He looks over at me an waives. “A’wright, Brad,” he says. I nod and waive back. They carry a bunch a stuff with them an Ernie tells ‘em to put the stuff in the store room, probably the prizes they’re giving away tonight.

A few more people come in but they ain’t regulars. Some of ‘em I don’t even recognize. That’s good, ‘cos it means more people an’ Ernie won’t have to shut the pub down. Still no hot chicks yet.

One guy I’ve never seen before comes in. He’s kinda small an’ intense lookin’ in that weird lookin’ way. He goes to the bar an orders a glass a water of all things then takes a seat by himself at the table directly behind me. I nod an’ say ‘hi’ to him but he just ignores me. What a asshole, huh?

Finally my sister an’ her husband Joe come in. They’re standin’ in the doorway lookin’ around. My sister’s got her hand covered over her mouth an nose. Joe frowns, then he sniffs an’ scrunches up his nose. He says something to my sister but they’re too far away for me to make out what they’re saying.

“Joe! Margaret! Over here!” I shout. I stand up an’ waive my arms hoping they’ll see me. After a coupla seconds they do an make their way over to the table. “Aw man, I’m glad you guys could make it. Listen, can I get you a drink – a beer or something? There’s snacks over on that table over there. You want me to get you some snacks? Some crisps or something?”

Joe pulls the seat out for my sister an she sits down. “Christ, what’s that smell?” he asks. “Smells like someone spilt a septic tank in here.”

“What smell? Can I get you a drink or something?”

“It smells like….ah, never mind.”

I shrug my shoulders an’ ask them again if they something to drink. Joe orders a bottle of Miller. My sister don’t order anything- says she’ll wait awhile.

I go to the bar to get Joe an’ me some drinks. When I come back the go out an’ a spotlight shines on the stage. Everybody shuts up as Ernie makes his way to the stage. He picks up the microphone and coughs loudly into hit.

“H’llo everyone,” he says. “Welcome to th’ Silver Fish’s First Ever Annual Karaoke Night.” A buncha people start hootin’ an’ hollerin.’ On a Ned’s gang whistles loudly. Ernie yells at everyone to shut th’ hell up. After it quiets down he starts talking again.

“Uh, I’m Ernie, an’ I’ll be yer MC tonight. First I want te thank ye fer comin;’ I’m glad youse could all make it. Anyway, let’s get the show on the road an’ bring out oor first singer – Tam McDonald. Let’s gie a big hand fer Tam, everyone.”

Everyone starts clappin’ an’ shit; as one a the two old geezers that always sit at the end a the bar makes his way to the stage. Tam’s dressed in his usual grey, woollen flat cap an’ a dirty, yellow cardigan. I can smell his piss an’ old man smell all the way from here. He starts singin’ some Justin Timberlake song.

“A’hm bringin’ sex-y ba-uck…them uthoor bhoys don’ know how t’ act,” he warbles. “Doorty bab-ee, you see these shack-les, bab-ee, A’hm yoor slaa-vve.”

He starts dancing, doing some crazy old man moves. Not bad for a dude who just celebrated his 81st birthday last week. Then he grabs his crotch an’ starts gyratin’ an’ thrustin’ his hips. I look over an see my sister an her mouth is hangin’ wide open ‘cos she can’t believe what a great singer this old guy is. Joe’s impressed, too, I can tell. His face is all red an he’s grindin’ his teeth an’ shit. He’s lookin’ at me like he’s kinda pissed off, like –‘why didn’t you tell me before that this place was so cool? The last 38 years of my life have been a waste.’

Tam’s still doing that sexy dance of his. “Git yooor sex-y ooot,” he sings. Then he thrusts his hips out again. “A’hm bringin’ sex-y baaa….Ahhhhgg! ma’ BACK!”

The music stops and he puts both hands on his lower back an’ stoops over. “Ma’ back! Ma’ fuckin’ back! It’s goone oot!” he shouts. Ernie an’ the other old geezer come onto the stage to help him off. When he’s safely escorted from the stage, Ernie turns back to the microphone.

“Well that was Tam McDonald, everyone let’s gie Tam another roond a applause,” he says. Everyone starts clapping again. When the noise dies down Ernie introduces the next act.

Ned an’ his crew rush to the stage. Ned starts rappin’ to MC Hammer’s “You Can’t Touch This,” while his pals are dancing behind him, busting out these crazy break dance moves. They ain’t bad. Everybody in the joint’s clappin’ along, even Joe an’ my sister. I brush the front a ma shiny shirt. If they like this, then they’re gonna totally looove me.

A couple a more people come on. Doris sings “You Are the Music In Me,” from ‘High School Musical.’ Her voice is alright, but she screws up the lyrics a couplea times which pisses me off. She’s no Troy or Gabriella. Tam’s pal, Frank, gets up an’ sings a Frank Sinatra tune. An some other broad gets up an struggles through that Nickelback tune that’s so big right now…something ‘bout playing baseball in a bathroom, or something. There’s some good acts but so far none a them hold a candle to what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna win this thing hands down.

Ernie decides to get in on the action an sings the Ronnie James Dio classic “Holy Diver.” He’s pretty good, but he can’t quite reach those high notes. When he finishes, everyone claps and whistles.

“Thanks everyone,” he says. “Now this next performer is gonna sing something really special. It’s a song that’s got to do with one a my favourite drinks an’ favourite ice cream flavours, as well.”

...This is it, I think, now it’s my turn to shine.

“Singin’ the ‘Pina Colada Song’…please give a warm hand for…..”

yessss.

“Mr. Walter Lattel.”

WHAT!!! Who the fuck is Walter Lattel?!?

***********

A spotlight follows a guy onto the stage an’ it’s the guy I saw earlier, that weirdo that came in an’ ordered a glass of water. He takes to the stage wearin’ a heavy trenchcoat, like some he’s some kinda fag or something.

There’s a moment a silence after the applause dies down an the guy stands there with his eyes closed. Then the opening chords play. He starts bobbin his head and swaying to the rhythm.
Then he starts singing:

"I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.
Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.
So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.
And in the personals column, there was this letter I read"

I look around an’ notice the audience is completely entranced by this guy. No one’s saying anything; they’re all just staring at him, bobbing their heads in time with the music. Then when he gets to first chorus he suddenly rips off his trenchcoat an’ flings it into the audience. Underneath he’s wearing a suit, made out a the same sparkly stuff as my shirt, except it’s his entire suit that’s sparkly.

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

The whole place just goes nuts. Fuck! What a asshole this guy is. First he steals my song. Now he’s stealing my wardrobe. Can you believe it?

After a couplea more verses, the guy stops singin’ and the music gets turned down real low. He looks up like he’s in deep thought , then he says:

“Friends, I gotta tell you…y’know, every relationship, every marriage, every friendship has it’s ups and downs. When you’ve been in a relationship for a long time, it’s natural to get bored from time to time. You start thinking ‘gee, maybe I don’t need to put my cock in the same goddamn vagina for the rest of my life. Maybe there is some one better out there for me; someone sexier; someone smarter; someone who’s better in bed; someone who doesn’t bore me with the minutia of their shitty, boring-ass post office job every night when all I want to do is just chill out, have a beer and watch CSI; someone who won’t make me feel obligated to down an entire six pack in half an hour when I come home from work, just so I can resist the urge to cut the bitch’s head off and stuff it in a bowling ball bag.’ Sometimes you just want some who will just shut…the…fuck..up.

“Well, I’m here to tell ya, appreciate what you’ve got. Love you’re woman. Cherish her, man; cherish your lady. Let her know just how special she is. Because I’m telling ya if you’re thinking that you’re getting tired of her, you can be damn sure she’s thinking the same thing. And while you’re thinking about putting that personal ad on the sly, you can be damn sure that she’s already placed a personal of her own. And unlike the narrator of this song, it won’t be you that she ends up inadvertently hooking up with. It will be somebody else; probably Jason, that son of a bitch that came out to repair your washing machine last month. That bitch,….y’see him an’ her? They’ll run off together, right under your nose, too. And you? You’ll end up living all alone; eating cold hot dogs from a tin with stale bread and mayonnaise for breakfast every morning; sleeping by yourself in semen-and-tear stained sheets every night…for the REST OF YOUR LIFE!

“So take it from me, the next time you feel like getting some on the side, drink a pina colada instead. Seriously, drink a pina colada and just sing this song:”

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

The music gets louder an’ everybody’s smilin’ an’ shouting out the chorus back to him, an he’s just standing there with this smug look on his face. I don’t believe it. What a cock sucker.

When the song ends he walks off stage an’ everybody jumps to their feet and claps and whistles. The roar a applause seems like it ain’t ever gonna end. A couple minutes go by an’ whistlin’ and stompin’ their feet. He comes back onto the stage an’ waives at the crowd. “Thank you everyone, I wish I could just hug you all! Free Tibet!” he shouts an’ bounces off the stage.

The place goes nuts. Shit, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to follow that kinda act.

Finally the applause dies down an’ Ernie comes back on stage. There’s a couple a people still shouting for Walter Lattel, but Ernie just tells ‘em ta shut the fuck up.

“Aw’right, now, let’s bring on oor final act for the night. He’s a good friend a’ mine an’ we all know him well. Please gie it up for my mate, Brad Hasselbrook!”

I hear a couple a people clap as I make my way to the stage. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do. That Walter guy stole my act. There’s no way I can sing ‘Escape (the Pina Colada Song)’ after he just sang it. I stand in front a the microphone an’ it’s total silence. I can’t really see the audience too good cause there’s a spotlight shinin’ directly inta ma eyes. I stand there for a good coupla seconds wondering what to do.

“Sing something, ya twat,” I hear someone shout, it sounds like Joe.

Fuck, what the hell am I gonna do? Ma minds a total blank. Think, Brad, think. I try ta think of another song, any song, but I’m struggling. Finally something comes to me. I cough to clear my throat an’ singing.

‘And we can build this thing together, stand in stone forever, nothing's gonna stop us now….’