Our favorite collection of fat misfits, ex-Nazis and linty sourballs are currently on the march throughout Nigeria, pissing on doors, blackening Christmas for Christians, and forcing citizens to give them all their booze.
They also are known to commit rape HERE, HERE and especially HERE (as long as the area has been shaved).
But thanks to their manager, Jesus Chris, they will be doing a one-off somewhere in the middle of the Thames. Seating is obviously limited, and priority is being given to trout and herring. Boko fans with whale-guts may have to pay for TWO tickets.
Naturally there will be a rival PALERS concert on a nearby barge, which you can only get to by using a barge pole.
Whenever BOKO plays, Pinhead makes sure to find a nearby venue to stage his own show. He can't possibly get anyone to book his "band" even in Bristol (Saskia, take note). Like the leech he is, he simply makes sure that he can pull a number of BOKO fans into falling for being temporary members of his band (for a fee).
Pinhead has made up t-shirts that make it seem like the PALERS have toured the world on their own. Here's a photo of the shameless egotist modeling his fabulous shirt.
As usual, he's standing next to our favorite red-faced prune, Grooker himself. Grooker, his blood pressure seething up to his bald spot, is anxiously waiting for a tanker to arrive with more beer.
Pinhead can never quite find a hat that fits his tiny dome correctly. Usually he settles for a dirty piece of gum off the sidewalk that he plasters down as a beret.
Pinhead likes to totter around showing off his shirt, and pretending he's the leader of an actual group that doesn't pay to play, pay for vanity CDs, and bribe Grooker into showing up by waving a wine cork under his nose.
Any money not spent on renting the venue and buying a vat of beer for Grooker and Geoff, goes towards Pinhead's collection of hats.
This time, since BOKO's show will be in the actual river, Pinhead's venue is a garbage scow.
"We will climb aboard the dirt-barge," says Pinhead, "the MINUTE Grooker finishes the predictable finale of the Boko show. Drinks will be served instantly, so that nobody will notice our off-key singing. Grooker will show up after taking pictures with the ugliest aging morons imaginable, and will sing along on at least one song before falling on his face.
"How we love a predictable evening of getting drunk with aging dullards, gazing admiringly at fat Geoff and drunken Grooker, and considering this the highlight of our lives! It's sort of like being at your grandma's birthday party and seeing the same idiot cousins and sharing the same small talk and reaching for another tipple so you can stay tiddly. Tee hee! Make sure to congratulate grandma on looking good for her age, and don't actually engage in conversation, just a brief compliment and MAYBE sidle close to somebody can sneak a photo without saying, "Look this way and smile." Oh, to hear the same songs yet again, and the same faces just a little saggier, spottier and redder.
"I figure 800 pounds per person will cover the party and the complimentary booze for Grooker, but each person must pay for transportation (a bus to the train to the submarine) and tickets. I have arranged a set of hoops and conundrums that should only take a few weeks' time to process! As always, I will be glued to Grooker's side throughout most of the festivities, and we do make quite a pair: a white-haired grizzled old goat, and a tiny-faced grub with a stubbly face like a badger's vagina. I'm not a sex-change schoolmarm collecting a paycheck for droning useless prattle to bored students. I run a website for a band nobody quite remembers, fronted by a man whose name nobody knows, who had one and a half hits in 50 years. Oh yes, and I run a BAND that self-pressed a few CDs that have never been reviewed by anyone anywhere. You'd think I have nothing to be so proud of, but you forget that I have an ego bigger than a hippo's ass, all the imagination of an autistic gnat, and the conniving personality of a rabid cockroach."
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