I hate Phantom FM (look what it did)

No, really. My iPod battery exploded in my face, causing me to swerve, causing a truck carrying cows to swerve, causing the cows to fall out on to the road and burst, which made a small Micra with 50 nuns in it  capsize into the melted tarmac, causing me to vomit as the nuns became half religious, half tar, causing the radio station to jump onto Phantom, playing music that really didn’t seem like an alternative at all, making my allergies worse, initiating sneezes, which caused me to swerve again straight in to the wrong lane, making a 1970s Volkswagon Beetle van full of non-70s pretentious, horrible, designer-wellie-wearing

jabber, jabber, jabber

jabber, jabber, jabber

festival-goers flip, making me all delirious as I watched their stupid braided-hair-heads roll on to the median, making me question Phantom and their support for Irish bands no matter how fucking terrible they are, meaning that when I look up gig listings, I have no idea who to go to see, because suddenly every band on the planet is important and there is no sieve and everybody gets a record deal somewhere and then shit, Michelle Doherty’s head lands on my lap, because she was in the camper van, but she’s not dead and she’s talking to me telling me how great the next festival is going to be and I’m screaming and my Minstrels have scattered all over the dashboard and her northern-nasaly twang makes me vomit again, and I throw her out the window, but she slams in to a passing egret which dies instantly enough (lucky it) and hits an 18-wheeler, which jacknifes and causes a huge pile-up, but I sail through and for a moment all is quiet………………………..

I reflect on how stressed I got and what this stress caused…and I calm down and I breathe and then…

I HEAR SIMON MAHER’S FUCKING VOICE and I start the engine, do an unnecessary three-point turn and stare with my nostrils flaring at the inferno up ahead, with dead fiery truck driver, 50 screaming nuns tormented and writhing in hot tarmacadam, the smell of burnt beef and incinerated wellington boot in the air, the lonely wail of a dying egret and Michelle fucking Doherty still jabbering away and I fucking floored it piss quick on my journey to hell!

Switch off Phantom Fm or more people and animals will die!

Now here’s the Selecter

2 thoughts on “I hate Phantom FM (look what it did)

  1. But without Phucking Phantom fm where else could we hear the incescent continuous rattling sound of high hats being played over the top 5 frets on the high E string of a 19 year old knocklyon kids cheap fender guitar, where every song starts in the same key, has the same beat, and every band gets to play the Phirst Phriday. Give me a fucking break phantom – please stop playing this shit!

  2. Pingback: Alice’s Restaurant | Stretch MacGibbon's Magical Musical Mlog

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