Let me be open and honest with you, TMT reader. A couple days ago, I played spin the bottle with the news section. What felt like a semi-slow news week in the music world needed some hot, steamin' action. I may have crossed some sort of journalistic line, but at the moment, I thought the "line" was just a sexual object waiting to be trampled.

First off, I wrote down ten pending new articles yet to be written on to ten multi-colored note cards. I pricked my finger with a dragon letter opener and wrote the headlines in my own blood. I then took a 45-minute shower until every inch of my body felt and looked like Grandpa Gene's testicles.

I then drank an expensive bottle of Chateau d'Yquem and placed the empty bottle next to my feet, as I laid out the ten note cards in a circle around me. I spun the bottle, and it landed on this news article that you're reading now. No, I don't mean an article about me finding a news article to write. That would make no sense. It was fate that I happened to be holding the card in my hand that read "Konono No°1 Release Live CD."

I started to stroke the note card like a kitten and began to lightly purr into the note card's ear. I gave the note card about four Jägerbombs, and it started to tell me all about the Konono No°1 album. According to the note card, the DIY group from Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo are releasing a live, eight-track mini-album called Live at Couleur Café August 27 in Europe and September 11 in the U.S. The note card also said that, with never-before heard material recorded at Brussels' popular Couleur Café festival and production by Vincent Kenis, no one should be disappointed.

We both agreed that we enjoy Konono No°1 immensely and that we are both anxious to buy the album. It was around that time when things got intense.

The next morning, as I awoke naked and throbbing, I realized I had a drunken, fantasized sexual encounter with a note card. A few days had passed, and I built up the strength to write this all-too-revealing news story. However, last night when I went into my bedroom to sleep next to my wife, the note card was laying on my pillow with a gigantic hole in it. I awoke my wife and confessed the whole story to her.

Emceegreg has learned to leave the experimentation up to the musicians and not the writers who write about them.

Most Read