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My bio is best told in song. Written by the inestimable Hippy, who shall be my speech and song/anthem writer when I am dictator of the universe. Please enjoy.


SLAVES OF THE BUNG-KNEED BITCH


She flew in from the barrio in downtown LA
Suffering Chondromalacia Patellae
A heart full of venom
And eyes as cold as ice


The daughter of a Mormon
And one mother of a woman
She blew in like a hurricane
And it should be no surprise


As soon as you hear ‘da svadanya, tovarisch!’
You’re the slave of the bung-kneed bitch


She’s got the looks and moves that’ll set your soul free
You gotta know she’d fuck Angelina Jolie
She’s got a brand new sofa
And she knows how to use it, too.


She’s gotta lotta time for Vila
She’s a real star killer
When she gets her claws in ya
There’s not a lot that you can do.


You gotta believe you’re the scratchers and she’s the itch
Before you know it, you’re all slaves of the bung-kneed bitch


She hates the hot weather
She dresses in black leather
She’s got style and grace
And half a million shoes


She wishes she was thinner
She’s an exotic sinner
We’re never gonna win
So we might as well lay down and lose


Now pay a-fucking-ttention ‘cos I’m givin’ you the word
Her vagina’s got monologue you and I have never heard
Some of them are bullshit, but nobody out there knows which
And you and me, baby, we’re both slaves of the bung-kneed bitch.
I’ll tell it like it is - we’ll work hard but we’ll never get rich
Everybody in the band is a slave of the bung-kneed bitch.
This song’s more or less a diabolical kind of pitch.
We’ve got this far and we’re all slaves of the bung-kneed bitch.