"The Comedy Album" is the 13th and most epic Kleenex Girl Wonder record.
26 songs, covering a variety of genres, styles, and production methods, written and recorded over the course of two years, and now available on two slabs of strikingly coloured vinyl (some 'Comedy Blue,' some 'Bazooka Joke Pink').
Featuring guest production from Max Tundra, Saskrotch, and The Hood Internet, plus the usual suspects of Graham Smith, Matt LeMay and Thayer McClanahan.
Includes unlimited streaming of The Comedy Album
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
I'm a pest,
I'm a beast.
YOU'RE upset?! Well,
I'm not me.
In my head,
there's a shrieking alien,
and he's been keeping all
his technology secret, but now
we'll unleash the best outburst
you've ever seen!
Fireballs bright as tangerines
and wide as the panoramic screens
on which we cast our shattered dreams
and shadows and thick puffs of steam!
Oh, that old yarn again? I mean...
These Internet-bought theses reek
of unrefined humanity.
me and Johnny McAfee
flying on MDPV,
crying on CNBC,
Mendocino to Belize.
Livestreamed mad uniques
‘til the g-d geodata leaked. Sheesh!
Don't take no genius to see;
these people'll believe anything!
So bring your shit to bear.
In the woods, trees fall all day,
What's an ice cube to La Souffriere?
Oh, spare me your stupid pellucid stares! Look:
it takes two to rhumba,
just one to fuck up,
but two to fuck everything up,
so buck up, bud.
Dance til you crumple,
sing ‘til you cough blood!
It seems that we have different definitions of tough love!
You're maybe a hard PG;
I'm TV MA LSV!
Unsuitable for anybody,
inscrutably antagonizing everyone
who decries my amplified cramps as
unproductive fantasizing. It sucks,
I know, but that's my thing: whetting appetites,
So pass my light bulb crank pipe, dingus. Half my life I been asinine, see?
I classify my tics as High English, but most of the time I'm just rhapsodizing.
I'm the type to recite the right rhyme: a Mike Tyson biopic fellatio soliloquy.
But in the light of a guttering campfire, a blubbering landmine,
the B in R&B. So next time you wanna disrespect mine,
I’ll be fine in my gallon bucket of Red Vines. Oh my,
you look ravaging tonight. You forget
how fucking ravenous I get in the
shine of your bauxite eyes like
a pipeline right through the
night sky. It wouldn't be
my first white lie or
tight bind. Right,
cry, like I can
it's Saturday Night Live.