Piston Pete the domination class, thirty five porn children later and there is disregard for you he does not care for you me or the world. As another screaming innocent emerges from the nights of wanton desire, in the dark corners of the club on the travelling trail of populations. Bulging borders where it is too dry to survive or too damp to breath in the warren world of the social prolific disorder. Where the name on the street is mate or still Ginner, waiting for his chance to drown administrators, number crunching boxes of cornflakes and rice in tins to go, for piston Pete always till now, thought that some tolerant benevolent mother genie would carry the can for the excesses, embedded intravenous porn drip of abhorrence, in a dark world of the avatar people where nothing exists. Only warped minds and the drugs that feed them as the sound bangs from big speakers in your overburdened ears.
