The scissor sisters are horrible evil things, they have made disco somehow acceptable to be played in indie disco’s. they did it by pretending to be ironic, but then no one wears clothes like that all the time without meaning it. Still they’ve taken time off they’re busy schedule from ripping off 70’s disco classics and erasure to squat piss on Freddie mercury’s grave.
Just as that fat chick was spreading her considerable thighs to stream a steaming river on luminous yellow urine onto the green grass below a hand was thrust from under the earth, a wrinkled grey fist rammed into her gee, grabbing the scissor sisters camp disco ironic silly dancing crown from with in, and then upwards and out smashing through the top of her fat face spraying blood and brains all over the rest of the degenerates. There are sequins, frayed and a little dull, some falling away, on the jacket. The moustache has gotten wild, rivalling earls. Freddies back. One by one, the scissor sisters fall to their knees in the presence of their god, as he stands silhouetted against the setting sun, one arm raised, Ana Matronic’s twitching corpse still impaled, his grey shrunken head nods along with the track rising in the back, and his leg starts to tap along too. He walks over to a curtained off little area and climbs into a boy costume, calls himself Mika and kills everyone involved.