Like the Butthole Surfers in their prime, you want Fleshies to fuck with you. It’s fun to hear them molest your eardrums, and this EP kind of feels like kneeling down before a priest who kicks you square in the forehead with soccer cleats. Then you realize why he’s wearing those shoes. So he doesn’t trip in your blood while he dances around, making fun of you. This EP should come with the instructions: “Steal a can of Scotch Guard. Spray into plastic bag. Huff until the bag’s stuck around skull in tight seal. Shit yourself. Go blind.” My favorite songs are the first and third. “Fists of Mercy” and “The Tickler” show you that they’ve got the chops to write perfect punk songs. The other four scream that they don’t give a fuck about my or your expectations. These songs destroy in different ways, from the loungey, ether-happy, four-minute, twelve-second long title song to the “Sexiest Man Alive,” sung in a metal, nut-squishing falsetto that begins with bleating sheep. Gotta appreciate bands with gonads this big who’re crazy enough to pull it off like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Recommended, in tandem with their debut CD, Kill the Dreamer’s Dream.