Put a couple of thousand tents together as you no longer have a camp site. You have a small town. Back in the aurum rushing days of Te Wai Pounamu the imaginative locals named the collective digging, dredging and panning sites names like Arrowtown, Kingstown, Notown and Camptown. The latter of these was renamed after some wag stepped off a boat and announced the sea of tents as being fit for a queen. Hence, Queenstown. Our own private camptown has the advantage of electricity (perhaps), bunk beds (eight of them in a 4x4m area), air-conditioning (the sides and roof of the tent are not joined), wildlife (ants, spiders, snakes), and peace and quiet (not bloody likely). Still it does have the advantage of supplying one and a half levels of blue XP, and I might even bump into someone I know. I can't complain as it was my idea last October - it seemed like a good idea at the time, and next year was so far away, and we hadn't been to Azeroth before.
The supergroup mentioned by number six does indeed sound like a lyricists dream: people like that can sing anything at all and the audience will wet themselves and throw their undergarments at the performers. It's good to see these elderly poppers (gay anthem soft rockers) coming out of unemployment and congregating in the hope that their collective fans will escape from music acquired apathy long enough to front up at the local bingo hall and support them by throwing support stockings around. They can always try lip-sync: it worked in the 80s. Apparently some devil worshipers did attend a Pet Shop Boys concert in the erroneous expectation the some pet goats were to be sacrificed. There could have been all sorts of carnage but luckily the intruders fell asleep during the first piece - Violence, while St. Cuthbert's all-boys' catholic schoolboy Neil Francis Tennant was crooning out:
And all the others, running 'round so hot and bothered
Anything to give their lives some meaning
I wouldn't have fallen asleep - would have been too busy vomiting. As Jerry Sienfeld (who has a really cool Porsche collection) often said: '...not that there's anything wrong with that"
The supergroup mentioned by number six does indeed sound like a lyricists dream: people like that can sing anything at all and the audience will wet themselves and throw their undergarments at the performers. It's good to see these elderly poppers (gay anthem soft rockers) coming out of unemployment and congregating in the hope that their collective fans will escape from music acquired apathy long enough to front up at the local bingo hall and support them by throwing support stockings around. They can always try lip-sync: it worked in the 80s. Apparently some devil worshipers did attend a Pet Shop Boys concert in the erroneous expectation the some pet goats were to be sacrificed. There could have been all sorts of carnage but luckily the intruders fell asleep during the first piece - Violence, while St. Cuthbert's all-boys' catholic schoolboy Neil Francis Tennant was crooning out:And all the others, running 'round so hot and bothered
Anything to give their lives some meaning
I wouldn't have fallen asleep - would have been too busy vomiting. As Jerry Sienfeld (who has a really cool Porsche collection) often said: '...not that there's anything wrong with that"
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