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| Liam |
| This, friends, is Liam.The smallest member of Scimitar. What Liam lacks in size, he makes up for in a thoroughly giant-sized addiction to white spirit. He drinks about 3 bottles a day, 8 if we're practicing that day. When Liam isn't playing his guitar and writing stories about plants, he's sitting atop buildings, heaving rocks at birds. Occasionally he hits them but usually he just hits passers by. The police don't like him very much. Anyhoo, I expect you've all had a good chuckle about Liam's hair. God know's I have. The fact is, though, it's not his fault. Liam used to have a number 1 all round. His affectionate nickname used to be: Liam 'The Little Shaven-Headed Fascist' Clayton. Alas, we can no longer call him that, and this would be why...... One day, Liam was out and about Saddington in his snow white Kappa tracksuit, smoking and spitting. He was bored, which is the default state for a townie. He decided that what he would do was break inanimate objects in a disused building. He and his mates trotted off, swearing pointlessly as they went. The going was slow, due to the townies mortal fear of getting their tracksuits mucky. At last they arrived. They immediately started throwing rocks that they found at walls, for some reason expecting the result to be cool. Liam had found a particularly large rock and was struggling to chuck it at a cardboard box when he saw something scuttle off out of the corner of his eye. Being an inquisitive young scamp, he went off to follow it. He walked into a dark room. He could hardly see anything but he could hear a faint scratching. Liam became quite scared, as anyone would faced with this situation. Except possibly He-Man. Anyway, he called for his mates. 'Gaz? Steve?'. Nobody anwered. The scratching became steadily louder and louder and Liam became more and more frightened. He searched for his blunt townie knife which was actually one of those knives that you sometimes get on a bottle opener that couldn't cut butter. It was nowhere to be found. Still the scratching was getting louder. Liam backed into a corner, his eyes wildly searching the room, occasionally swiping his fist at thin air muttering that he was going to 'have' whatever was there. Suddenly there came a screech. Liam looked up just in time to see a big hairy ball fall onto his face. It crawled up his face and attached itself to his hairless dome. Suddenly Liam no longer thought that Kappa tracksuits, skintight blue jeans, 2000 year old caps and beating up defenceless 7 year olds for no reason was cool, for he had been attacked by the afro of the great Jimmi Hendrix. After Hendrix' death the hair roamed the world looking for a suitable host to carry on it's aspirations of ROCK! It obviously gave up and settled for Liam, hoho. Anyway, Liam's mind is now controlled by the hair of perhaps the greatest guitarist ever to have lived. Maybe that's where his rampant cocaine addiction is from. I suggest you don't cross him when he's got a bottle of white spirit and some cocaine. In fact, don't cross him anyway. His hair doesn't like anyone going near it and it may react badly. You have been warned. |