penn state's
premiere grindcore band.
ah, pBOTe.
this band's origins can be traced back to our discovery
of the kool
shades, a purple plastic toy guitar (with three strings) that
some genius
decided should be able to be amplified. the god-awful
noises that
thing made still kill us to this day.
the fact that
no one told us to shut up during these recordings is
a miracle.
even writing these words feels wrong. reports from paul
indicate that
we were clearly audible a block from our dorm. why were
people so tolerant?
there is no
track order for this album. ideally, each song should be
burned to a
separate cd, to be pulled randomly from a bag.
(additionally,
two more pBOTe songs appear on the self-titled album by the poops.)
bowl
full of hands clapping at man's folly (white stripes cover)
cover of "seven
nation army."
disintegrated by the man squid in the summer
extreme malice is on time again to make use of the three misplaced objects
fuck you in the skull with a skull
going to the death place in a blood boat
hiding human orangutans in your sisters' underwear collection
i'll melt you onto a cracker, fuck
i've been writhing on the railroad all the live-long day
mother of the shark barks to death at the atm
some fake fires for the fifteen people we made feel bad
strangled
by the dumb
the first pBOTe
song.
throat sliced by a pizza cutter while grandma bakes flies with her eyes in the moon parlor
lineup: arthur, dan, matt
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