This fuckin' two-man unit of fuckin' pain & anguish fuckin' blisters your fuckin' cranium-innards with a caustic fuckin' grind that fills your fuckin' earholes to the magnitude of where your fuckin' dumb ass is sayin', "there is no fuckin' way that this glorius fuckin' din I'm hearin' is made by just two fuckin' manic-blasting motherfuckers from that fuckin' town in shit-fuckin' Michigan where that fuckin' Amway cleaning products fuckin' cult BULLSHIT & sturdy fuckin' office furniture comes from", but when it comes down to it, that's the fuckin' truth, so you best believe it.
Completely off-the-radar - and off their rockers - these guys bust out an acidic blend of classic grindcore that hints at the greats such as vintage Napalm Death & at-their-best Nasum.
Fuckin' take that, brand-new-neck-tattoo-slash-mathematical-haircut-guy!
