Today you’re going to step into one o’ them Star Trek style transporters as a group so that you can get to the exotic world where you have to play a concert or some shit so that some alien overlords who just heard your one fucking hit song from the retarded ages won’t up and destroy our entire sad little planet and everything’s going to go horribly, horribly wrong. How so, you ask? You’re going to be fused into one giant mass of flesh, seething and writhing in mindless agony and rage. All you’ll be able to do is sputter, sputter and beg for death. And when death cannot come because of your five beating hearts and five pulsating brains you will dream of it, as only the damned may dream.
Congratulations Tommy Tutone!
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