Although I do believe that the modern pronounciation is Gregory Yefimovich, Яa's Poo Tiп.
or something.
So, YOU thought...
He nobbed all them Яussiaп women's with his parapsychological penis of universal panacea...
...Then got poisoned.
...Then got shot in the back.
...Then fell over a rug made out of a bear
...Rose up, and tried to strangle his shooter with a shoulder strap.
...Then got shot in the forehead.
...Then got bopped and bopped and bopped on the bonce with a stout stick
...Then got popped though a hole in the ice and drownded.
Well, you were WRONG!
He's been reincarnated as creepy freaky Gregory Yefimovich Яa's Poo Tiп once more, and he likes his Metal Lust, he does! Riffs? Yeah! he can dig it!
See, we were down The Whatacunt last night. Bemused by a collaped imbiber of inebriating beverages with a glass on his noggin, we availed ourselves of our usual upstairs spot by the dancefloor when...
...aaaarrrggh!
Rasputin is lurking alongside! Creepy glowing eyes staring out from under bushy eyebrows beneath his monkish cowl and robe!
Well, hooded leather longcoat.
Following us about. Pacing around us, glowering, brushing past with the stench of his foul 'pits pervading our nasal passages.
Phew, he's gone...
Waaaah! Turn around and he's right behind!
Move over there, move over there... sneak off to a quieter corner...
Oh noes! The mad monk of metal is still following us, and putting the willies up Jo something rotten!
Well, he's not putting his willy up ME, I can tell you! Mystical sexual spunk of healing or not!
Back over to the middle... yearrrrggghh! He's back to stalking us like a missionary Jesus on a mission to sex up the Яussiaп hoi polloi...
Brian Blesséd Be! Some "hard metal" be playing, and he's off! Clomping about, headbanging and twirling his matted locks like a mad monk noshing off a Яomaпov's nob.
But the kazachok he danced - really wunderbar!
♪ Most people looked at him with terror and with fear, but to Metal chicks he was such a lovely dear ♫.
I don't know if he could teach the bible like a preacher, but he wasn't fuelled on ecstacy and fire. Ecstacy tablets and Beer, probably. More like Stale Sweat and BO if you ask me!
Anyhoo, we fled downstairs rather than be unsettled by his magnetic glare of Evils.
You know when someone says "Oooh, they were right givin' me Evils, they were". THIS was Evils epitomised. If anyone was gonna give you Evils, it's Ra's poo tin on a metal night down The Whatacunt...
