Biography
Hey Boy, wanna laugh so hard the dust shoots out both nostrils? Wanna carve the bowls of hell on a cheese pizza? Can't skate? Guess you can van surf with Styles then, unless the vikes are too strong. Hidin' from the pigs in Dike Dale's Ponytail fingerpaintin' anarchy signs on your big brother's Elvis Costello record (the good one). The present sucks but no more than the future's gonna, so stuff everybody in that PARTY TIME MACHINE while flippin' the bird to the flux capacitor and setting the controls for LAST NIGHT. What!? We're outta whip cream cannisters? Then pass out some stand up drums or just pass out, but you're gonna get some fully detailed Converse sharpied on yer feets and curlie pirate moustaches to match. (It matches). If you don't know who the COCONUT COOLOUTS are get an Orbitz ticket up to Seattle and watch them flush the other bands down the toilet of the FUNhouse, if only to realize what a miserable time you've been having show in and show out. Kinda like when that one babysitter (that only got to babysit once) let you stay up till your parents climbed up the driveway to mull over all the Whoppers (not the burger) and Suicides (Pepsi/Sprite/Dr. Pepper/Orange) and hot dogs ampin' up your brain while trippin' out on how awesome the F-word was in the Breakfast Club. A peek outside of the D R O N E…
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