Once you get past the hideous cover art (two things: 1. If you’re drawing a picture that’s going to be Xeroxed, don’t use a pencil or a ballpoint, and 2. A naked lady’s milk duds only point toward her feet if she’s standing up. If she’s being crucified upside down, they’ll point toward her head. They’re filled with bird seed and silicone, not helium. Most times, anyway.) you get something roundabout old U.K. Subhumans or Disorder, bristling with trebly monotony and razory guitars and stuff, though, weirdly, one song sounds like Marginal Man. Lyrics are largely misspelled, which is just as well since the handwriting is largely illegible. Seeing as they live about a mile from my usual grocery store, I intended to write this review in my car in front of their house, but there wasn’t any parking so I went and bought bagels instead.