Archive for the ‘jake twell’ Tag


Pop quiz hotshot! The Pickster comp “The Rise Of Moombahton: Today We Were Kings” comes at your fucking face at 60 miles per hour. What do you do? Boom! Trick question. It’s music. You put it onto your computer and you dj that shit til your hands, ears and eyes bleed. This comp will not wash your fucking car and finger your girlfriend while you watch CSI: Miami. No. But it’s gonna donkey punch your senses and give your brain a dirty sanchez. Who the fuck is on this? Pickster? Melo? Sluggo? Ledoom? Mendez? ETC!ETC! Chong X? Jon Kwest? Jay Fay? Skinny Friedman? Jake Twell? Jamrock? Javier Estrada? UFO!? Apt One? Bro Safari? Other dudes we don’t know? You would be ok with just one of these dudes on some shit but now you got them all in one place and it becomes fucking explosive. So do what you have to do. Take the fucking Nestea™ plunge into this shit. You’ll be covered in ice tea but you’ll be loving your fucking life. GRAB THE COMP AND STREAM THE FUCK OUT OF IT AFTER THE JUMP FUCK FACES!

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Well, gonna try to put up as much shit as possible since shit is gonna get crazy starting tonight. Djing and working a day job. It’s a win-win-lose. We can’t always be internet stars all the time. We have to get down from our ivory fucking virtual tower and walk among the people. See what you fuckers see. Taste what you taste. Turn you onto the dark side with speeches like this:

Basically, how are we gonna meet your mom and make you the little brother (or sister! right ladies?) you always wanted if we are not out there djing and impressing her and making her vagina damp. Maybe we will play some of these songs for her. GO GET THEM AFTER THE JUMP CUNTS!

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Hey, Walmer fans, Bryan Adams here! How’s it going over there in Canadialand? Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t give even 5% of a fuck. Seriously . That’s why I left that shithole to come live here in the UK, leaving you lot swimming in a massive puddle of your own chezelagnia filth until you can come to terms with the fact that you’ll never be American. Man, this place pisses on your dump – right now I’m at the vinegar strokes with that Kelly Brook lady and whoever that foxy lady is who’s in the Harry Potter films – yeah, Dame Maggie Smith. You know it. And the best thing? They give you a butler who’ll wipe the manjam from your old chap with one of the Queen’s swans while Sting holds your coat. Sweet.

Actually, I don’t know why I’m bothering to write this, I bet you’re too busy being tromboned by a grizzly bear or getting all the fucking poutine out your beard so you can get on with finishing your Wayne Gretzky fan porn. Anyway, if you could just stop licking Celine Dion’s sweaty lady marmalade off Jim Carrey’s perineum for  just one fucking second, I’d like to let you know about all the great moombahtons they got over here in that UK – well, I won’t, cos  like the rest of you idiot Canadians, I don’t actually know shit about culture, so I’ll wait for my man Pop Culture Care Package to finish drinking Pimms with Michael Caine and Kate Moss and he can tell you dumb fucks instead. Now that’s what I’m talking aboot!

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You took fucking drugs. You went to a museum. You couldn’t understand what the fuck was going on. You threw up everywhere. Everyone was pissed. They banned you from the museum for life. Now you can’t get fucking art smart. You walked down the fucking street. You slipped on a piece of runny dog shit. You twisted your fucking ankle. while you were on the ground crying like a bitch you saw a place. It was another museum. A moombahton museum. You went inside. You heard these fucking tracks that are AFTER THE FUCKING JUMP ASSCLOWNS!

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