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From the bowels of er (well, anyway the bowels of something somewhere) came these so-called The Dictatortots. Croaking a tongue unknown to civilized lands, they stirred fires deep within the loin of our decadent and despised republic. Twisting words and melody against all who came, they rendered art from depravity and spectacle.
The cry was a warsong on tyranny, on meaning, on care. They gave not one shit, brooked not one insult. They drank as lords and whored likewise. They stood exemplar, serene as their schtickkreigge plowed forth, leaving butts, bodies and bartabs.
Who are they? Perhaps even they know not. Perhaps charade has become life; masque become face; game, RL. Perhaps.
Why are they? Rousted from sloth by gilt promises of fame and fortune; their drive has mired in a plateau of free drink. Yet.
Fat on success, still they rage.
What vile fountain vomits this? What evil dyne powers such stupidity, such offensive malevolence? What sickly pheremone draws the masses forth to flare out against this stuttering, yet blazing torch?
Examination yields no understanding. It may, however, yield enlightenment.
Out of the postgrunge fallout came a band unlike any before them, to smite heavily upon the heads of any who would come to share the joy of bleeding ears and frosty lagers.
They were called The Dictatortots, and it was good, and they begat much verminous children of poetic disfructure.
And so it was said: Ye who shall follow these The Dictatortots shall be numbered among the blessed. Thou shalt consume great quantities of beverage, until all are beauteous and beloved to thine eye. And thou shalt thrash thy heads until the heavy crick enters thy necks. And when the magic panflutes play, then shalt thou rejoice, all whilst shedding happy tears and soiled garments, hurling thou at each other with a great frenzy and nudity until all is still again.
And the mark of these The Dictatortots shall be placed upon the clothing of the chosen; yea, also onto their beverage cups, and conveyances, and computer workstations, and key fobs. And those marked shall be raised above other men, for they are the chosen of the one true band.
And so it is foretold: these The Dictatortots would inherit the world, and all worlds beyond it. They shall reap the piles of wealth, cases of fine drink and vast seas of adoration they so richly deserve. And all people of the worlds shall rejoice, for their love will nearly burst from their chests, and their laughter and upraised fists shall shake the land.
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BOOKING REQUESTS AND INFORMATION: booking@dictatortots.com
