Thursday, 3 March 2011

Album Review: Dogbowl - Cyclops Nuclear Submarine Captain.




Cyclops Nuclear Submarine Captain is like being five years old in a distant cousin’s bedroom. He is about the same age as you but has a completely alien set of toys. They are stacked shoulder high in places: toys upon toys, each toy endlessly fascinating and wonderful in itself, with about twenty-six miraculous and violent functions. You are one amazing object away from sublimating into a cloud of golden energy and precipitating a drizzle of excitement piss all over everything. By god - these toys!

Your cousin hands you his favourite. It is an action figure: a bearded man with huge bulging muscles and weird felt hair that’s coming away at the edges. ‘Wow, that’s pretty cool,’ you think to yourself. He presses a hidden button on the toy’s foot and a hatch opens on its back. A big red button is revealed. You push it. Your eyes roll back in your skull and a wise-sounding voice resonates warmly up from your belly. ‘Tommy…Tommy... hear my voice…You pressed the button - well done, you’ve earned yourself a relatively uneventful puberty with moderate interest from what you will come to know as ‘second tier girls.’’

The voice fades away and you’re back. Your cousin gives you a knowing wink and, with ominous reverence, says, ‘wait until you see my fucking mountain bike.’ You ask him what girls are. He laughs at your innocence. An hour later you know more than anyone did in the 1950’s.

‘…and do all women require full penetration in order to climax?’

‘Well, that’s an interesting question, Tommy…’

A knock at the door. It’s your hairy mother come to take you back to cups of worm medicine and pyjamas with big holes in them. You know that in half an hour you’ll be fighting with your sister over crumbs of her affection, and of food. Little tiny crumbs of food and affection. You shake your cousin’s hand and march with dignity to the front door, to your mother’s bosom, to brutality and belligerence, to home. But you can face all that now, knowing what you know.

Your mother coming to pick you up is the end of Cyclops Nuclear Submarine Captain - when you have to go back to listening to fucking anti-men singing sweet songs that get them blowjobs from hot girls that I wish would give me blowjobs instead.

This album is so good. It is like half a blowjob.

Blowjob.

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