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When you were younger you told yourself you would never creep through life, you would roar. Clad in snakehip leathers and a bandoo in your hair, you’d be the motherfucker that broke the chains…not a follower, and certainly not your parents. There were no plans of how to reach this status, but that was the whole point…if you don’t set rules to live by, you can’t get trapped. Just you on the freedom highway, shaking back your cascading main of beautiful hair and screaming through life with both ends burning. Just like Ian Astbury of The Cult.

Time keeps moving, slowly. The lifestyle of Ian Astbury has a price, so you get a short term 9 to 5 to keep you going, but there’s no denying..you’re still reckless, and on the path to greatness. This is only temporary, every awesome person has to start somewhere. Even Ian had to.

You live every weekend like it’s the last you’ll see, rocking the fuck out of life at your local bars and a discotheque that has a rock night on the last Saturday of every month. It’s here that you meet a girl and she follows you, she’ll follow you anywhere, she believes in you…it’s so cool…and every rock god should have a woman.

The 9 to 5 aint that bad, and the pays greatly needed. The rent on the apartment’s not cheap and now you’re looking to buy, renting’s a waste of money. For now you drive a Golf 1.1, but that’s only until you move up the ladder and buy yourself a beast of a car. Life’s good, comfortable, working, and marriage in the plans.

It’s taken a lot of work but the new house is now decorated, you went for engineered wooden floors rather than laminate, as laminate tends to delam if it gets wet. In the hall you both decided on fawn walls and cream beading. Along the walls you have hung honeymoon pics from Crete. Your friends and family all agree, it looks wonderful.

Winter’s pass and not much changes, you buy a dog, the car’s changed for an estate, the boot space is handy for trips to Bed bath & beyond, plus it keeps the dog off the seats….and with the baby on the way you’ll need the extra room for getting everyone about.

Years pass, you’ve had several small rises at work, it seems like the office will ride out the recession..and that’s good news seeing as though the wifes expecting again. She’s soon going to have to give in the day job again and you’ll need all the money you can get.

On a Saturday, the following year, you take the kids to McDonalds. Now driving a used people carrier you pull into the restaurants car park and get out to open the kids sliding door. Your reflection greets you in the car window, older yes, but still you, still the same person you always were? Those plans may be on hold, but they’re still viable.

The grunt of a V8 vibrates through your body, it gets closer, then stops. A door clicks open, you spin around on the spot.

You…. a middle aged fat fuck with a balding scalp, working a shitty mundane job and married to a pig, you’re dressed in fuck knows what, a complete cunt of a man, a nothing. Someone Ian Astbury would walk past in the street and not see, or even worse…laugh at.

Before you stands a black Honda Civic Sport, rebored manifold, 4″ unsilenced Exhaust and carbon scoop trim. Out of it step the brothers WEFAIL, donned in snakehip leather with jet black receding hair flowing half way down their backs. 12 inch tall skull bandoos covering their foreheads. They take off their mirrored aviators and stare through you, their tired eyes piercing your very being. Ian Astbury climbs out of the back seat, he violently throws a half eaten Chicken McSandwich, it hits you directly in the face.

…and like gravel they laugh, and they laugh, and they laugh.