Gay Paris' Tour Diary Three: Death To Spring

Well, gentle reader, we've come a long way in getting to know one another, have we not? In the spirit of this, I have decided to remark on the events of our Southern jaunt in the style of writers that were largely influenced by my contributions to the development of the epic – Homer, Hesiod and yes, even Virgil, can all suck it. Death to Spring.

The Southern Horror Odyssey

Goddess of song, teach me the story of The Last Good Party!

These were the dudes of wide ranging stylistic influence who had recently laid to waste the sacred town of Brisbane and who had wandered to the Virgin Lounge due to their status as Super Famous Pals. Many other cities had known them and wept on their leaving, other bands had learnt from them: the awesome power of chanting and the mantra of Dudes “it's all we've got”. These secrets were strewn across the vast Southern Night, held dear by all but only truly known by The Good Time Band: Gay Paris.

Good Time Band

But now Gay Paris had gone to meet The Peep Tempel and The Stiffys, those distant Victorian Super Famous Pals, near the setting wherein iron rails had harnessed this land to civilisation and long had beer been too expensive yet necessary.

Divine Rider

As Golden Calypso held strange power, so did the Party Pals, engaged in all manner of 'horny boy stuff' as the night grew long and strange. Beyond the wild celebrations of excess and reconstitution conducted by the heroes of this time, discrete rituals and initiations took place – terrible and arcane, these dudes sipped of the very essence of sanguine evening, bleeding out into the small hours as wondrous and horrific insects devoured time and space.

Artist's rendition

Oh vile travesty! Be that the hubris of their kind had brought this fate upon them? That awful providence should be known by mortal dudes! Cancelled were the festivities of the next night, yet to stop The Last Good Party had too great a nature in ontological consideration. Girded tight and soaked in both the blood of our Saviour:

Hail Mary Mallon

…and provided with Super Famous Pals with a 'yes yes y'all' attitude:

Gin and ?

The Gay Parisians drank their fill in the House of the Stiffys, then headed out into the night to find wisdom from those drunks that make up the royalty of The South.

The Centaur

Yet by great indulgence, the Super Famous Pals did miss the great gigs of the night! Oh vile ignominy! They did miss party metal and stoner blues, the last stand of The Pony and an act named after prostitutes – accursed be the horny boys who led to this distraction, this inversion of punctilious rectitude!

Horny boy stuff

Now, in the home of my rest, these bones do ache and humours wail in odd colour, yet the horror and grandeur endures in the oneiric wonder of repose. To look back on our monumental endeavours brings the joy of Elysium and I am certain that we have saved the cold souled folk from the endemic purgatory of modern restraint. In closing, I would like to present and image of Slim Pickins performing the rite of 'Skinny Bop'. Until next time (when we sink Tasmania, creating a version of Atlantis in the Bass Straight), gentle reader, Death to Spring!

Skinny Bop!

Editor's Note: If you needed more Gay Paris in your day, check out their new video for The Demarcation Of Joseph Hollybone. It's fucking brilliant: