I also too would like to order one of these Dun Ringle things, please, providing you can guarantee that it's not going to bring a Satanic curse into the house when I open the envelope...

 

Y'see, I was reading the Psychic Postbag section of yesterday's Plasterfield Advertiser, which as we all know is written by Led Zeppelin type occult conspiracy theory expert W*llie B*rns.

 

B*rns, a man well versed in the arcane numerological legends surrounding rock dinosaurs, stated that it was "really f**in heavy, bwah", that there were only 2 words in the title of the new Dun Ringles album, when all the previous ones had had 3. By taking the band members' Primary 3 arithmetic results, adding them to the number of minutes of spare tape at the end of the first 4 albums, dividing by the "s" that's been knocked off "Dun Ringles" and multiplying the result by the number of spots on the giraffe, the Page-obsessed, denim-clad mustang-driving side-of-Kenny-Sticky's-mill graffitti artist has proven that Wattie is the Antichrist. And that Robin's been dead since 1971. And that Jason can only play the guitar because he sold his soul to Rev Ang*s Sm*th one midnight at the Cross Inn. And that thon Jonathan cove really was in the Mule with Dr Zhivago's old man.

 

Can this be true?