A.d.i.d.a.s. tries to give us the scoop on why murder is a socially necessary practice akin to art but somehow it just doesn’t get through – not least of all because the message is buried under mounds and mounds of quite artlessly layered text which amounts to nothing more than some cruel joke. Trying to read this stuff makes you so frustrated you end up wanting to go out and kill someone anyway. Oh, and there’s something about G. G. Allin, that self-immolating, all things crass and rude, punker-than-punk, punk rocker, (who’s dead by the way) being God. (RT)
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