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S**N
Why does this exist...?
You’re probably wondering where the idea came from to add this book to the Fleetwood Mac range of merch. Well, it went something like this...Immediately following the piercing smell of bourbon and gummy-bears that preceded him, Lindsay Buckingham’s forearm burst through the thin, wicker door separating himself from the adjoining studio live-room. The splintering sound made by the admittedly inadequate latch giving way, as well as the general commotion of Buckingham’s clumsy motions were conveniently concealed by the sounds of Christine McVie slumped against the wall next to him, heavily wretching into her large popcorn bucket which, although still one-third full, remained impressively resonant.This distraction gave Stevie Nicks just the brief moment required to scuffle awkwardly and hurriedly to the far right wall of the live room. One corner of the thin, coffee stained white bed sheet was pinned to her upper chest with her right fingertips, as the trailing sheet outlined the tambourine, maracas and Kalamazoo on the floor behind her. Mick Fleetwood on the other hand, remained bedded into the old mattress on the floor, his back up against the far wall, like an grand old oak tree, brought down in one great storm of the night many years ago, his once proud trunk broken at the middle and having grown dark, damp and mossy over the years.At first appearance John McVie seemed to have been maniacally amused by the sudden intrusion, with a smile motionlessly stretched across his whiskered face and both eyes peeled back to their sockets. But in truth he had held the precise same expression for at least the last 11 hours since having finally finished laying down his bass track for ‘Another Time’, a labour of love song which would never make any public release, much to John’s disappointment. His bass guitar still lay on his lap, still plugged in, still with the faint electrical hum and crackle clearly audible through the overhead monitors.Lindsay’s impressive flock of hair still managed to maintain a majority of the Native African Headdress largely above his brow, whilst two of the three pieces of medieval body armour were still draped over his shoulders and chest. The only other item of clothing still attached being his left roller skate, requiring him to take great care in placing both feet firmly into the room before conveying the thought which had occurred to him so vividly, causing him to wake so suddenly, and causing him to bring about the whole scene in the first place.“Guys. I got it. Seriously guys, I’ve freakin’ got it.It doesn’t matter about the shirts.If DOESNT MATTER AT ALL!!’We can forget all the GODDAM STUPID shirt designs man. I’m serious.Shirts are finished, they’re totally freakin’ FINISHED. They’re YESTERDAY’S NEWS man...No one wants to buy a GODDAM T SHIRT.No one wants to buy a GODDAM BADGE or a GODDAM POSTER or a GODDAM CIGARETTE BOX or any of that GODDAM JUNK any more...The kids out there are RADICAL and REAL now man, they want somethin NEW, they want somethin WILD, they want somethin...”A booming burst of air came from the top half of Mick Fleetwood.“What...?”Lindsay tightened his whole frame into a concentrated focus, prodding the air before him as he spoke.“...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...““...”Mick’s left eyebrow slowly lifted.“...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...“John’s smile seemed to finally shorten and the electrical hum grew a full decibel.“...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...“Stevie’s towel finally slipped from her fingertips and wafted to the floor as her face pinched together and distorted slightly clockwise.“...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...“Christine heaved mercilessly into the popcorn bucket one more time.“...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...““...DotsWaveSpiralsLines...“
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