I'm a fucking pervert.
You put the word stroke in front of me and I will giggle. I don't give a shit if I'm in a meeting with the president (who smells of disdain and frosted mini-wheats by the way), or I'm scuttling about the secret passage ways of the Vatican. The word 'stroke' is fucking funny.
Then again, it's really hard to laugh at something when it relaxes you.
It's like getting a delicious blow-job and finding it fucking hilarious. (Whoops, there goes my pervertz againz.)
Their Ocean have successfully calmed me on two occasions now. I still find the idea of the sun stroking me funny. But then again, I am ticklish everywhere. Even someone looking at me can tickle the balls in my eye holes. So it's no fucking surprise that I am tickled in me ears and laughing cartoonishly, yet calmly, as the Sunstroke EP from Chicago's stoned, Their Ocean.
Every fucking song sounds like it was written, practiced, recorded and mastered in a fucking tree house. They probably spent more time trying to remove the sounds of the Chicago breeze blowing the fucking crispy leaves than trying to record this entire 3P (3 song EP, I thought we'd established this already?). What I find most annoying is how I can't tell this shit starts over and I end up two or three listens in before I even realize I have 32 more albums to listen to behind it.
Their Ocean, if they ever fucking release a full length album, will probably calm the fucking pants off this bald-headed Luxembourgian cooze moose. Good show chaps. Assless motherfucking chaps.