Slow Motion Sneezing
Everyone loves Tchaikovsky, from the terrifying young street gangs with their t-shirts and their mini-dynamites, to the mumbling old businessmen with their suits made from three parts silk, one part dead skin, and two parts dust. The composer was just brillliant, and had he not supposedly commited suicide after finding it impossible to live with his gayness in such a cruel, unadventurous world, he’d be turning a very homosexual 168 today. Hence, it’s present time. We closed our eyes, and listened to a tape of whales having a fight to relax ourselves, and we then discussed what such a great composer might want. It boiled down to a toss up between some twisted denim trousers, or a clip of people sneezing that might inspire a disgusting opera. In the end we got him both. Happy Birthday Tchaikovsky!