I say unto you, who here did not destroy toys as a child?

I say, let that man or sexy lady cast the first vote. Excepting in cases where the first vote has already been cast, in which case they are asked to vote anyway, most especially in states and provinces where disallowed by law. MN, NY 5¢ - CA, MA, HI 10¢, - MO 25¢.



As a child, toys were divided into two categories, the working ones, and those slated for destruction. The latter category was further broken down into: toys that had worn out and deserved a decent sky burial, and toys that were asking for it, which most usually belonged to my sister. Super Fly did not have a sister, but we cannot despise him for his advantages. Except maybe a little.

In any case, or, more specifically, in the case of each current member of Bad Machine, toys were employed in weak narratives that frayed after mere minutes into explosion sounds and shock tests from the top of staircases.

We were not children of privilege, and were not afforded access to combustibles, or really sick power tools. In fact, rare was the day we were even allowed to raise a hammer to a little green plastic army man on the bathroom counter. But something deep inside us, perhaps that connection to the divine, was always looking for a new, dignified, and dangerous way to send off our playthings.

I know what you're thinking. The stove, the oven! Put it in the garbage disposal! We tried, friends. God knows we tried. But the day finally came, this last week, when we were able to not just kill a bunch of cheap plastic from the pharmacy, but to overkill it.

There are a few regrets, sure, we should have covered that figure in gas, we should have made sure my uncle wasn't home, we should have closed our laughing, open mouths when I started smashing batteries (batteries are made of deceptively hot goo, if you didn't know this already.)

Still, I am glad to say, Bad Machine is quite proud of their cathartic mess, and now inform you that you are contractually obligated, upon watching this short film of our adventures, to pump your fist in the air, or something similar that shows you understand the full import of the awesomeness herein.



Thanks especially to Curtis Mayfield and Brad Neely, from whom we plundered what we wished.

Turn up the sound* & Tell your friends, mofos.

(*N.B. do not turn the sound up if you are at work or some other place where people may take offence to the soundtrack, which originated here: http://www.superdeluxe.com/sd/contentDetail.do?id=D81F2344BF5AC7BB2ED45DA46C71879CA66AD88C78042C76)