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Let me piss into your wind

You murky kestrels of little faith. Plough your Nissan Micras into the front of your local Centra and demand to know when they changed it from a drive-thru. Give your favourite kebab-saucier a kiss on the elbow.


I'm writing this just after bumping into the sculptor of the new Michael Collins statue on Grand Parade. I told Klaus that he made the arse too big. He scuttled off with a dirty smile that seemed to say "You think that's big?" Before I could respond he jumped into the back of a taxi and demanded to be taken to prison for being such a scheinershitzen. The car sped off to the sound of intense Eurobeats.


What a month. We've been busy. Tom has gotten a new job selling mattresses just so he can legitimately say "I do very well in the bedroom department"


Patrick's been convincing Neil that he could be the future of mid-range clothing shops. Essentially he could be the next Next.


Here's a few photos of us playing the physics formal. We got paid a ridiculous amount of money for 40 minutes of our own tunes.


And the people loved it. We got free waters. And everyone was happy. Here's a few photos.



We've got a few swans in our aviary, if you will.

We've bought a harmonica.


We're supporting Iris there on the 29th in Cyprus Avenue. Come along. Or don't. Rest up for college Christmas you manky alcoholics. Take Friday off and get a coffee in Gloria Jeans. Say Hi to Gloria for me. Me and her had a thing years ago. It was nasty.


The full video of the Dapper Denim Brothers gig is on youtube so check that out.


We're supporting the good fellas at Skies Behind Industries in January. Limited tickets to that so catch the swan while John's away as the kids say.


There's a smashing music video for The Waltz out on youtube so dig that out of the archives. Credit goes to the good folks at UCC Film, Lorena, Vaiva and Kristina.


There's always oil in the pipeline so keep up with the marathon belters since your mother keeps asking for jilted badgers.


As a final thing, we all think as a band that the phrase "Stafe" should be brought into the Cork lexicon as a portmanteau of "Stay Safe". Like just imagine you're in the club with your bitches and one wants to get the train home. You care for said bitch and want to make sure they arrive home in good health. But there's not enough time to say "Stay safe".

So you simply say "Stafe"

It's a movement. I want the word coming out of everyone's mouth come Christmas.


Good Bye.

Stafe.


Cormac


https://drive.google.com/file/d/1achB9AS-Kc91LESISpW7nJ1fX0c1dS4M/view?usp=drive_link

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