Just How Good is Our Robot??

Hails friends,

A mighty weekend was had by the travelling minstrels of mess. On behalf of my horsey self and the less equine others, I give thanks to all who came to see us and feel a tingle/shooting sensation down one side of my body from all the great commentary we have been fed post-stage.
Yes it was a rare moment to see us all together again in public. And it was with much arrogance that we stormed the small Hatefieldian theatre without Glenfren Asomvel with the intention of still being awesome.
Anyway, we World-debuted our new song "Necronomnomnomicon", and for this part of the world also "Jack the Slipper" and "Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barracudas". I knew they would be a success- with names so awesome, who needs genius riff-mastery, as proven by us all free-styling throughout rather than sticking to script.
In semi-seriousness (who wants to be too serious after all, fun leech), I am pleased with this seldom-seen venture into live-performance art.
The question of the robot that was to be Mr Asomvel's understudy was answered. In the battle between Hand and myself, I (and my Mr Asomvel v2.2) was vanquished by his Mr Asomvel Vista edition. However with a few tweaks of my own it became "Glenfren 7" and was to be a signal-(and head)-splitting digital and polyphonic pitchshifting slave to my own goretar tones, voiced through Lord and the fan favourite Corpsifier mini-V.
Initial outsider reports suggest that our robot filled the hole to the required level. However insiders missed some of the sub-grrrtar independent lines and the tone was compromised.
I will get back to the lab with Glenfren 7. My own valve amp was accosted by the Rag and Bone man, and this is perhaps key in the development of our cyber member. I think we can explore this a bit further, although we can certainly not rule out anyone with the correct drive and unorthodox commitment levels required to audition for and join Gore of Goruguay. However a new stipulation is in order for anyone who wants to try- you must be able to learn by ear and almost exclusively without our help for a starting point.
For the time being (likely forever), Glenfren 7 is on board. It was particularly outstanding at involving the crowd in Mexican waves and can also make an excellent cup of automated tea.

This is far too straightforward for a Horse's Mouth entry. Thereby some other interim news.

Goruguayan Ambassador Jeffrey Brahma joined us on stage briefly at the start of our performance at the weekend. I think he was confused by the length that the screen took to lift before we started playing, thence stuck around trying to lift it. He managed to escape before our guitars rang. He was later seen in the crowd, Akbarring away, setting traps here and there. Delightful fellow. Follow him on Twitter http://www.twitter.com/JeffreyBrahma

The Islands of Carcossia have moved to the West of the Goruguay continent due to increased seismic activity. They were always vulnerable to this kind of thing. Dhalsim Kabaddhi is a Carcossian. I'll be sure to ask him more about this. I do know however that the capital has now been relocated to Wilmott.

Finally, before I get back into the Murder Room to cook up some riffs, I am compelled to extend my fins to Conquest of Steel for their aid this weekend; Stuka Squadron for their wellington booted and Lufftwaffic performance; and Triaxis for being the only healthy, normal human beings in attendance. Yes I'm also looking at you crowd, but with lesser skill!
Great weekend, hope to see you guys again soon for more log-free ridiculo-rock.

And Fang of SS broke his arm or something. Slipped on a fish in the carpark. Icing on our cake of hake.

Hail Goruguay.

Mr Asomvel v2.1

Lords and Ladies of the wind,
Hope most of you are well. As ever I hope my enemies are suffering. However the anemone of my enemy is my friend. I hope any of those are also well.
The loss of Glenfren has been a difficult task to deal with. His enormous shoes were not hard to fill. We used them as bowls for the cats. They are full of IAMS now. But his place in the band is proving more difficult to recover for a Kellogg's variety pack of reasons. Mainly Frosties. But also to an extent, Rice Krispies and Special K.
Until the time is right and the holy Goretar is pulled from the sacred stone by the Arthurian descendent who's birthright it is to complete the Goruguayan Quintet, I have built a robot.
Modelled on the intrument (Sub-grrrrtar) and tone of Glenfren's choice, I have managed to fit all his musical traits into a small and convenient little package- currently version 2.1.
Hand is also engineering a robot.
He is usually very good at this kind of thing. He however wishes to follow a completely different path of circuitry and his version, Mr Asomvel Vista, is almost ready to try out in the band room.
I am positive that we can fill a temporary gap with one of our robots.
They will however lack the obnoxious personality our old friend is notorious for. This being most important, the two finished robots will battle it out Robot Wars style until one is destroyed.

Log out.

Glenfrens Forever

What a crazy weekend! First of all I enjoyed sitting behind Michael Tindall inside Westminster Abbey on Friday for the British Royal Wedding, as an ambassador for Goruguay. It was perfect for discreet slumber and would have brought embarassment to Goruguay had I been caught on film.

Then they say Osama took a couple of bullets and USA is all very proud. See.. rumours of him seeking asylum in Goruguay were false. Interestingly buried at sea just like our own national custom. Some people say he isn't dead. But he probably will be soon in that bag at the bottom of the ocean.

I asked a few people down at the Pakistan Embassy in Fistanbul. But they knew nothing.

Is it a good thing, is it a bad thing? Only time will tell I suppose! It would be a bit like the Goruguayan equivalent of Jo Jangles getting a good dose of murderdom. He's essentially just a figurehead in Goruguay with no operation input into the land.

And the third item of news is the gravest of all.

The Count of Monte Fisto, Glenfren Asomvel has been a subject of great interest to the American organisation, the FBI, for several years now. In their ongoing mission of counter-terrorism they have apparently identified Glenfren as a threat to the United States and have linked him to the "Black Van Bombings" of 1978, Several years before he was born.

While on the way to a perfectly legitimate excursion to Sea World in Florida, Glenfren was detained at Miami Airport for allegedly providing false documentation. The staff were refusing to accept that he could have such a thing as a Gorwegian passport and questioned the authenticity of such a country. Following this insult to the nations of Goruguay, the FBI swooped down and seized him.

He is now in a holding cell being interrogated by Donald Trump who demands to see his birth certificate.

Unfortunately the way backward old Gorway works, citizens are not born but "created" and Glenfren only has a creation certificate. This is not acceptable to Trump, and the FBI are detaining Mister Asomvel indefinitely. This is highly disrespectful of Goruguayan culture and no matter what we say to them, they will not release him.

As a confidente of Glenfren I can assure that his terrorism only extends as far as secretly peeing on peoples' shoes while all are sat together around a table.

Gorway, and the other nations of Goruguay do not support Trump. Nor do they have much sophistication in the way of foreign policy.

It was suggested that we go to war with the USA. Fears of being overpowered by their muscle are one factor to consider. However we are a relatively small, enormous mythical collective and could likely hide the whole continental landmass for many many years while firing our sticks and sharpened fruit at the enemy. Much like Osama (except the fuit and sticks) and his band Al Qaeda (I saw them once, they weren't very good). But we have many American friends, and do not wish to be associated with patterns of real and horrific terrorism outside of Goruguayan waters, and most importantly would rather go to war with just Trump.

So with a heavy heart, its goodbye. Over seven years of winterblasting and ridiculo-rock with this icon of Goruguay.

Goruguay's finest orchestra is now without a sub-grrtar section until his release. But his release is no straightforward thing. So I will be seeking someone of great tolerance and a ridiculo-factor of 4 or above to complete the band once more. Americans are welcome. Except you Trump.

Hails from all of Goruguay to our friend, your friend. Glenfren.

Hail Goruguay. Hail Mister Asomvel. For the seven years, and beyond. Your legacy will continue in a song I'm sure.

The Necronomnomnomicom

While on my recent travels through Egypt during the "revolutions", I met up with an old Goruguayan alumnus of Hernia High School that I haven't seen in over a decade, Abdullah Jafaffrey. He lives in the heart of Cairo. He married an Egyptian woman almost as long ago and took up residence overseas immediately.
When at school with him, I remember how he obsessed over Egypt. He listened to The Bangles constantly, grew a ridiculous Pharaoh beard and even became a notorious slave with a penchant for whipping. He helped my father build the extension. And we didn't even pay him!
He loved everything about Egypt. But he could never go. His parents could never afford to even take him to Gorway let alone out of Goruguay. So there he would sit after school, miserable, in his sandpit. Aged 17. Dreaming of his foreign destiny.
As he grew into an adult and took his first job, he raked in the cash as a race promoter at the Fistanbul speedway. But he raped himself financially, with his Egyptian obsession and multiple pyramid scheme memberships.
My old friend was to find success ultimately when he saved his future wife from choking at a 2 Michelin-Starfished restaurant. They were at opposite ends of the room as she took her third mouthful of hake. As she spluttered and turned blue, Abdullah was swift to her rescue and punched her in the belly to double her over and cause the hake to go back to the lake. Its called the Heimfist Maneuver. Its quite famous.
Anyway it turns out she was an Egyptian horse wrestler of notable wealth. He cringingly jokes now that they met over an "a-sphynx-iation".
So his dreams were played out for real?

Almost. You see his obsession with Egypt is rooted in an ancient story.
The story goes that the very first Pharaoh was from Goruguay. He was a mystical man of magic who according to legend believed he had brought back to life the corpse of a deceased and even more ancient, and fossilised coelocanth. The coelocanth was of impressive magnitude. The size of a modern bungalow perhaps. It appeared killed in battle by some mighty jaws.
He did so by casting a magic spell that was given as a divine gift one gloriously sunny day, through the medium of clouds-that-look-like-things.
Regardless.. the coelocanth is written to have taken him to Egypt. On the journey it allegedly told him the secrets of the laws of the dead before turning upside down to show off his now twice-dead belly off the coast of Africa.
The unnamed mage took his new coelocanthic knowledge and used it to bring scavenger-ravaged corpses in the desert back to life and carry him to his destiny.
He reached a city, razed to the ground. Dead people everywhere. Something told him this must be the place for him.
He took the darkness in his brain and cast the spell.. but nothing happened. He could not reanimate the people who he foresaw as the workmen of his new palace.
After many days of frustrating spell-casting, he was met by the cause of the initial destruction.
The army of Aldo had arrived and imprisoned the Son of Goruguay.
The most ancient cuneiform tablet is a bit sketchy at this point. But scholars say that on his imprisonment, the Son of Goruguay continued to cast magic, trying to raise some other dead prisoners but failed. It was not until the 5th day, when he was mercifully fed, that the tide and realisation began to happen.
The guards served him a camel beak. It didn't look very nice. It was very furry and raw. It still had teeth and stuff. Not especially appetising.
Even after 4 days he still wasn't so desperately ravenous that he would eat such a thing.
He did however keep it.
He was to bide his time until the guards changed. And when they did, he placed the camel beak onto his own face and told the new henchmen that there was some mistake. That he was not a prisoner. The guards checked their lists and sure enough, there was no record of a Mister Camelbeak. So they let him out.
But one guard saw that the beak was a ruse, and challenged him. In the excitement he was slain by his own initiative and in desperation, the Son of Goruguay uttered one more time, a spell dictating a law of the dead.
He gazed at the dead guard, but nothing..
And then in a moment of bizarre intensity, the camel beak flew from his face and gored through the remaining guards like some kind of goaty piranha..
Had he brought back a dead camel face from the afterlife??
Many an enemy he slew with his mighty beak.
The Son of Goruguay took a rest. His anxiety relief had made him bleed with hunger. But there was nothing except the deadly camel extract, and that looked a bit too lively to enjoy.
So he cooked up a few guards and shamelessly cannibalised them.

Aldo appeared. Fat and mighty.

He had brought with him an enormous army of 10,000 Aldrones to destroy this one awesome Goruguayan. They set upon him quickly with sticks and a boomerang.
They smashed his camelly friend to pieces in moments.
The Son of Goruguay tried to reanimate his beak with the incantations.. but it was too mangled for any real damage.
And when all seemed lost.. when Aldo himself held the boomerang to the throat of Goruguay's son..

The leftovers from the cannibal cuisine sprang to life and annihilated Aldo and all 10,000 Aldrones.

The Son of Goruguay sat with his recycled allies in victory. He realised two things.
Firstly, he had not brought anything back to life. Not ever.
His magic released spirits from another dimension that possessed the bodies of all these creatures.
And second, and most importantly.. the vessels of possession had to be food..

The cannibal Son of Goruguay went on to bite many dead Egyptians, and build a mighty conurbation with central (and massive) pyramid. He passed on his knowledge in a book called the Necronomnomnomicon, but this was his downfall.
It was used against him and he was overthrown by a flat bread pocket, containing wildebeest meat.

Well-meaning forces tried to destroy the book, but it appeared impossible. It was thereby according to legend, entombed at a secret location and watched over by the Egyptian Guards of Goruguay for centuries.

Anyway.. I digress..
So I am here with my old schoolfriend Abdullah Jafaffrey. The one who obsesses over the Necronomnomnomicon.
Who obsesses over it while living in Cairo during the revolution.
Who hates Mubarak.

I've seen a lot of stumbling, bleeding people out there. And Mubarak is gone...!

Abdullah Jaffafrey lives in a pyramid-shaped mansion he says he built himself in the richest part of Cairo. He never goes hungry, he is never short of money, he has the woman of his dreams and twenty seven children. His wife doesn't work.
Jafaffrey himself hasn't been to work in many years..

I asked him the question. He said no.

I asked him if he remembers that time I didn't tell anyone at school that he'd peed his pants, and left a puddle under his desk.

He showed me the cover.

I intend to go back next summer and photocopy a few pages when he's asleep.

Thrills, Spills and Green Around the Gills

Today I was amazed. I had to check the calendar for two reasons. First that it was not April 1st: the projected ultimate release date of Green Around the Gills. And second, that it was not April 1st: some kind of trickery afoot. Because you see, GATG has snuck out onto digital sale slightly early. I say this, but the finest record label in all of Goruguay, (Oran Mór) is also eleven-time winner of Corporation of the Year in the Goruguayan publication "Slackulence Today". I remember recording this music approximately seven years ago..! Not quite a Chinese Democracy, but who cares about that? GATG is actually an awesome record! Chinese Democracy is an exercise in aural shaftage. Better late (or early?) than never. Click the button to infect your MP3 player with aquatic pestilence.

Jack the Slipper

I first met Jack "the Slipper" O'dour five years before his career really took off. Before he was to be known as the "Sole Destroyer", Jack strove to manufacture the highest quality of shoe you could wish for in all of Gorway. He was an excellent fellow and academic, having studied carp-entry at the University of Fistanbul in North Goruguay to Masters level and completed his doctorate industrially for Clarks (in association with the prestigious Flamebridge University).
Prior to his mental breakdown, Jack made me some very special custom pieces of footwear known as the "enhanced hooves". Essentially made from a pure Gore-tex upper, with soles constructed from a patented synthetic that is hard enough to crush rocks yet light enough to gallop away quickly in. Also the laces are made from fibres used to hang my Great Great Uncle Shirehorse Splatterhouse who weighed close to 3 tons. Rest his soul. His terrible deeds are for another day to share.
Over this time Jack was also creating bulletproof fins, invisible flipper and started work on his notorious "Flip-Flip" - so named motivationally to denounce "flop" or failure.
Jack was fast becoming a pioneer in footwear development. He set up his infamous workshop back home in wintry Gorway and began conducting experiments using rats and mice with unequally sized feet. Embittered by the bureaucratic process of proceeding to human clinical trials, Jack bypassed the law and sadly found himself struck off the Carp-enters register. This was a very serious criminal offence and a promising career came crashing to an end.
His desire for perfection and pioneerage combined with the people who stood in his way switched on an opinionated and violent gene inherited from his Grandfather- Allied war hero "Trenchfoot" Terrence O'dour. His exploits are poetically explained by the lyrical genius Field Marshal Fist in the Let 'Em Burn Song "Trenchfoot Terrence". Google that one.
Back to the tale. As you can see, Jack was a British-Gorwegian and thereby suffered substantial racial discriminance through his schooling and work. He also felt deliberately obstructed by a racist Gorwegian government. Added to this a string of failed relationships, repossession of his workshop and the theft of his miniature Schnauzer "Barrack", Jack was pushed over the edge and used his once noble skills to construct malicious and most murderous footwear.
It is not known exactly how many people Jack has slain in his racially directed fight against racism. However from the known survivors, it has been recorded that Jack initially brutally beats his victims with shoes or boots - earning his title of "Sole Destroyer", before giving unique subsequent attacks on his foes. These range from puncturings with stiletto heels, to heavy handed cloggings. To end however, and it all cases, Jack tries to cut the throat of his enemies with a very sharp flipper. On death he will carve the words "One Size Slits All" on their chest, with a bloodied arrow pointing to the killing cut. Incidentally the flipper is a size 8.5.
Jack "The Slipper" O'dour is still at large.

Five Years On in Goruguay

Dear Gorugese-speaking of the world today. It has been a fast five years since my last correspondence. I would apologise if I meant it. It seems like only a few hours ago when I last poisoned your minds with my exhilarating words of truth. Of course in the grand scheme of things and the existence of the universe, it was only a blink ago. Challenge me God-botherer. My creAsianistic philosophy will blow your mind into pulped-up beads of beige. I gave a seminar on this at Fistanbul University two summers ago. Guests included the highest order of religious extremists of Goruguay, who brought their imaginary friends to smell my chosen fragrance of the occasion "L'odore de Blasphemer" (pour homme). I atomised it over myself thickly following my shower and shave. The culmination of the seminar was not the beige-beadery of the invited guest minds, but response of my show-closing revelation that pulped-up the exploded beads from the imaginary friends. Subsequently they stopped believing in themselves. Their followers followed suit and a downward spiral of self esteem brought about spikes of depression and deconstructed any forms of imagination and enthusiasm. As the divine stopped believing in themselves, they took new lives living off benefits and selling copies of The Big Issue until their unfortunate suicides that nobody paid attention to.
Unfortunate unfortunate unfortunate.
Especially now. You see I was never an Atheist. I had simply been watching A Nightmare on Elm Street and wanted to see if the notions of belief and fear could be applied to Gorugese faiths.
I became more powerful than all the Gods of Goruguay for those few moments. New and bigger house, promotions at work right to the top, the cruelest of foods were all mine.
I had the answers it seemed. But despite playing along and indoctrinating the social standings of the nations, it was just something to do.
You will probably meet with some confusion in the comprehension of my stance on religious belief from reading today's blog. But its quite simple.
I did kill the divine of Goruguay. But in the struggling morals of today's youth a new discipline was required to bring order and shape to the future of face-moulding.
Thereby I completed the circle with propaganda that convincingly blamed a mentally disturbed member of the atavistic Philpotts tribe for everything bad that had happened. His persecution brought about martyrdom to the gods of old and The Big Issue magazines from what became known as the "Homeless Gods" era became religious literature.
The populace of the Goruguayan nations were deeply unhappy at the cause and ideas of their divinities living in bins and cast the mentally disturbed one out of Goruguay forever.
But now faith is at an all time high and is the root of current social disturbances throughout the crimson lands.
The government of each Goruguayan country has been democratically elected- with the exception of Carcossia, (it is traditionally backward). However the surge in religious attuning has developed a popular desire to destroy the peoples' choice and give it back to the will of the higher powers. This is the crux of the revolutions. Except in Carcossia, where no doubt they will struggle for democracy soon.
Goruguay popularly believes the divine will rise again to punish the people who ignore Big Issue salespeople.
So its essentially my doing. Puppet master of Goruguay? The strings are cut now though. I am without criminal charge and without worry of any Jihaddock threat. But I have no control over the future of these beautifully strange countries.
I do have a plan of divine reanimation. But it will of course require some heavy esteem counselling. But that will have to wait. There is much more importance at hand, such as composing songs for my Reptiles of Disfigurement.
I love Goruguay. But I shan't be fighting for it on this occasion. But if any insurgents are reading, I do a special deal on old Soviet weapons!

Hail Goruguay. Dark times and light.