THIS IS SUPPOSE TO BE SOME NEW MODERN WORLD
On a lonely afternoon, while middle class america searched coupon books and decided what to eat for lunch, a revolution started. R. Decline and Wallace, in a small one bedroom apartment littered with scraps of paper, books, cds, and dirty dishes, turned on a couple of amps, pointed them at the ceiling where they had draped a microphone, and shouted go. The sound was incedible, it pierced through the walls and into the streets and soon became obvious, this was something that could not be contained. They played what they knew, boredom, and raised a high proud fist of revolution against the modern world. Anyone who ever heard them play wanted on board and they accomidated, bringing people in despite any previous musical knowledge they might have had. The sound took the southern music scene by storm as they played anywhere at anytime for any amount. Each show seemed like it could be their last as they blasted through their sets with such speed that any set list seemed to be more of a set suggestion list. Between songs Decline would lay into the audience with a sarcastic wit, often enraging them and provoking fights and bottles being thrown as they re-acted, as he would often predict, to their shortcomings and hypocritical conventions being thrown in their faces. Alas, the world was not quite ready for SlutFuck, and it was not quite ready for the world, admist growing time between shows, cancellations, and being black listed SlutFuck didn't break up, so much as they simply slowed to a stop. Finger on the ignition, waiting until the day comes to explode back onto the scene with all the power of a hadron accelerator splitting apart atoms.