ARRY

Rip It Up, Issue 85, 1 August 1984, Page 34

ARRY

ARRY RATBAG

It all started when I was bitten and scratched by the Brooklyn Cat... or was it the Mainstreet draught beer? It doesn’t fucking matter anyway ; because all of a sudden I 'ad this gigantic urge to devour raw ’uman beings. Before long the entire NZ music industry would be the same. I . i , I tried to eat my flatmate first but 'e got away minus two \ fingers and in turn was f transformed into a flesh-eating zombie. Being Andrew Boak, 'e . ’eaded straight for work, where ’e ad Fred Botica for breakfast, Alan Beagle for lunch and an enormous dinner on lan Watkin. Next was Russell Brown and within a day the new cover of Rip It Up was winging its way to Wellington a full colour photo of Russell eating Murray Cammick’s brains out of ’is skull with the title crossed out/ and changed to Russell It Up and the smiling cannibal sporting a T-shirt with "Now I Have Control Of This Magazine!” written on it in blood. Mike Corless lost a piece of 'is shoulder to yours truly and ’eaded for the airport to eat the Narcs. Four bites later and the newborn zombies were off to terrify Christchurch. Meanwhile Russell, instead of bothering to interview the Mockers, was dining on them. But 'e didn't even 'ave time to gnaw the gristle off Steve Thorpe’s leg before they all ’ad to leave for Wellington. That night on Radio With Pictures Andrew Fagend ate Karyn Hay on screen, while Peter Fake screamed out to leave all the : juicy bits for ’im. Back at Flying Nun Auckland, everyone’s sitting round watching the splatter and drinking beer as usual. Little did they know that at that moment Roger Shepherd was in Cathedral Square gnawing on Wayne Elsey’s ribs. Raaargh the Russell It Up crew return and lan Dalziel (complete with blood on 'is gaffa tape scarf) _ goes straight for Chris Knox’s abdomen. And soon Chris was what 'e always wanted to be

Big Daddy Zombie: “Fee Fi Fo Fum, where's my kids? etc.” 1 After dining on the ’ole 'ouse, 'e promptly exploded. ! Back at 89FM and Andrew’d eaten all the DJs, the directors and the secretaries. After 'e’d finished seeing things, 'e decided to ’it Virgin Records across the road; Lucky for them the lift cables broke under is weight and (e plunged to a very messy land dive in the basement of Aetna ’Ouse. The yeeeeech spread like * ’erpes on a Flamingos tour and soon all the record companies 'ad it. CBS 'ate RCA and Virgin 'ad its first taste of Festival. U2, huh? The radio stations were chaos. Nobody could figure out ’OO Kevin Black ’ad 'ad for breakfast. Night fell again and saw Brazier at the Gluepot, carefully using a chainsaw to chop the audience up into bits small enough to snort. Russell and ’Arry, on their way 'ome from scoffing the Chills, Verlaines and an entire crowd of Windsor regulars, stopped in at Zanzibar for a quick Steinie and a DJ for dessert. Mark Phillips looks a lot more like a star attraction spread ail over the floor. it wasn't until the voracious Fagend tried to bite pieces off Angela D’Audney in front of a million viewers on Eyewitness News that the police got interested. “It’s OK those motherfucker musician types eating other motherfucker musician types,” raved Detective Chief Inspector O’Malley. “But when they start ruining my tea with their goddam cannibalism then I’m agonna do something about it. Right boys, remember the ol’ chant?’’ “Eat more, root more, drink more piss!” the blue boys sang as they raced each other down to the armoury. Only one thing on the minds of 500 cops: "Fuck, this’ll be better than the tour!” '• Within ours the pubs, nightclubs, radio stations, . : %-l record company offices and even Avalon echoed with Buddabuddabudda , Splat Powpowpow, Booooomm and even more SPLAT. By the end of the evening the ’ole shit ’ouse looked like a certain family restaurant on a Wednesday afternoon. “Thank God that’s over with,” sighed O’Malley, wiping the blood from 'is shoes. "But where the hell’s that ’Arry?”