Manson

My ears are ring­ing off the hook, my throat is raspi­er than a bas­tard file, and my neck needs a damn good crack­ing. What is wrong with me? I went to the Mar­i­lyn Man­son con­cert last night, and had a shock­ingly fan­tas­tic time. Not own­ing any of his records, or even being famil­iar with very many of his songs (apart from the Matrix one, the one about drugs and the beau­ti­ful peo­ple one), I real­ly didn’t know what to expect.

My sis­ter actu­al­ly paid for me to take my 16 year old niece (who has recent­ly tak­en to wear­ing an actu­al dog col­lar and flow­ing goth­ic clothes includ­ing a witch­es cape). Any­way, the cut a long sto­ry short, MM sure knows how to put on a show and his con­cert went off!

I’m also proud to pass on that Mr Man­son assures us that he’s been to all kinds of places in the world, but there aren’t any moth­er­fvck­ers as dirty as the dirty moth­er­fvck­ers in Can­ber­ra.