Need a gift for a gifted musician?
Introducing Mr.Bell, an artiste de extrodinare known best for crafting phat OG 12 bit house sounds of yesteryear on his antiquated machines...Although he is new to the game, Mr.Bell is no stranger to the music scene, producing phuturistic electronic music for over a decade...his early releases were ambitions and perhaps ahead of their time..reviewers cited
"When people buy the cd and it sounds like beck pulling a vacuum cleaner out of Bjorks asshole with Trent Reznor and Depeche Mode gang raping on a Akai sampler... I have a feeling that they'll be shocked and probably dissapointed" said Muzik Magazine, but such reviews didn't put Mr.Bell down as in his own words will bring you back up to date...
Now 27, I enjoy everything a normal 25yr old enjoys, such as lawn bowls, crippling arthritis, collecting my pension, and waiting in for the man from sky.
My early life was spent travelling the country as part of a troupe of Dancing bears. After three years, one of the trainers noticed that I was in fact a human, and therefore terminated my employment with the Dancing Bears school. I have never forgotten some of the lessons taught to me by the older bears, and even now I could de-louse you at ten paces.
With no money to my name except £1.27p worth of Turkish Lira, which I was forced to carry by mule, I wandered the land searching for someone who would give me an opportunity to demonstrate my remarkable talent for bareknuckle Backgammon, but due to my crippling tourettes syndrome, I was shunned by many of society. My fortunes changed however, when Prof. R.R. Meehartees from the Brussels institute for the prevention of tourrettes contacted me with a revolutionary 'anti-cuss' helmet, which although primitive, was effective. Using Egg Cartons to soundproof my face, I was again free to walk the land as a normal member of society.
At this point, at the now sobering age of 10, I was forced to make a choice: Continue my wayward life as a gigolo and soldier of fortune, or enlist in one of the many 'schools' as they were becoming increasingly known as. My decision was made by chance, as a Potter named 'Reg the Goat' spotted my abilities with Clay whilst grazing in a nearby field. As I rode on the back of my master into the town of 'London', I had a good feeling about where my life, and my Goat, were headed.
After milking Reg for all he was worth, I relented and ate him with a delicious cabernet sauvignon blanc 1897, which although nearly 100 years old, tasted exactly like a nun's private area. After using the wine to set fire to Reg's carcass, I was press-ganged into a band of sea dogs known as 'The Pink Marauders' for their camp-yet-courageous style of Pirate activity. Operating out of the port of Sunderland, they harrassed and attacked Penguins in the Antarctic, until they relented and showed them how to get back home.
It was at this time that I met my biological father again, for it was no accident that I had been brought aboard the HMS Moochacha. The honourable 'Captain Lowers' a man known for his portly frame, eye patch, and his gait that makes him look like he's trying to pass a Rubik's cube out of his sphincter. He described my conception as 'a chilling event akin to the collision of two Stars', but also as 'three minutes of vigorously humping a Mannattee.'
And so we come to the present day, as I plunder the oceans, occasionally stopping for a packet of pork scratchings, I always think back to my friends such as the Bears, Reg the Goat the Potter, and my pet Walrus, Sir Charles, for whom this section is not big enough to document all his manic adventures. All of these lovely animals have given me a sense of belonging in the world, that no matter how much I feel things are going against me, as long as I am not too picky when it comes to fornicating with sealife, there will always be a Martin jnr. to carry on my legacy."