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I am an American aquarium drinker I assassin down the avenue I'm hiding out in the big city blinking What was I thinking when I let go of you? Let's forget about the tongue tied lightning Let's undress just like cross eyed strangers This is not a joke, so please stop smiling What was I thinking when I said it didn't hurt? I want to glide through those brown eyes dreaming Take you from the inside, baby, hold on tight You were so right when you said I've been drinking What was I thinking when we said goodnight? I want to hold you in the Bible black pre-dawn You're quite a quiet domino bury, me now Take off your band-aid, 'cause I don't believe in touchdowns What was I thinking when we said hello? I always thought that if I held you tightly You would always love me like you did back then Then I fell asleep in the city kept blinking What was I thinking when I let you back in? I am trying to break your heart I am trying to break your heart But still I'd be lying if I said it wasn't easy I am trying to break your heart Disposable Dixie cup drinker I assassin down the avenue I've been hiding out in the big city blinking What was I thinking when I let go of you?

A is for arse, which Kid A is a load of. B is for B-sides. Yes, we know there aren't going to be any singles -- that's because the whole album sounds like a bunch of half-baked leftovers usually relegated to Track 3 on Disc 2 of the third single. C is for Capitol Records, who must've crapped themselves when they first heard Kid A. The list price, incidentally, for Kid A is $18.99. D is for difficult. Those who think Kid A is difficult are really rather dim. If anything, it's deadly dull drivel. E is for Eno. If people wanted to buy Eno records, they'd buy Eno records. Incidentally, we'd like to copyright our invention of the next hip new genre: Enocore. It's like, ambient punk with really, really sensitive lyrics. Kid A almost -- almost! -- qualifies, but there don't seem to be any words to speak of. Oh right, words are fascist. F is for fartsy, as in artsy-fartsy. F is also for fans, but since Radiohead don't care about them, why should we? G is for guitar, as in "Anyone Can Play . . ." Well, somebody had better, because Radiohead sure as fuck don't seem interested in it! Here's an idea for a direct action: Get up front at one of their shows and yell requests for the old tunes -- "Ed! Hey, Ed! Play fuckin' 'Ripcord'!" H is for humor and the complete lack thereof. Radiohead's total absence of glee is what renders them excruciating. Pretentious is cool. We like pretentious. But pretentious requires a nudge, a wink, a crooked Mona Lisa smile, something! I is for "Idioteque." That'd be the club where people go to listen to Kid A. J is, of course, for jazz odyssey. J is also for Jacks, but only when A is for Apple. K is for kvetching. It seems making Kid A was as hard to make as it is to listen to. Just ask Thom: "I felt like I was going crazy," he told Q, in an exclusive interview. "Every time I picked up a guitar I got the horrors. I would start writing a song, stop after sixteen bars, hide it away in drawer, look at it again, tear it up, destroy it . . . I was sinking down and down." And when it was over, and the sad bastard finally took stock of what he -- erm, sorry, they -- had created? "It made me cry sitting in the back of a car from start to finish," he said to Spin, in an exclusive interview. Good thing he wasn't driving! L is for lemmings. Man, you've got to love rock critics. Does anyone else get off on listening to "an agitated bass-and-drum funk pattern played on a shotgun downbeat [that] abruptly mellows with the help of a murky, underwater echo effect?" Oh wait, sorry, that's actually the New York Times description of a Trans Am song. Our mistake. Anyway, the only thing worse than the legion of rock critics wringing their ink-stained hands over Kid A's supposed brilliance is the disturbing number of hacks dishing out mixed, murky three-star judgments when they clearly know the record is pants! Kee-rist, even a lunkheaded upscale stroke book like Maxim -- Maxim! -- felt compelled to give this sucker a good review. On the one hand, people are making a fuss over sounds that they wouldn't spare a column inch for if it came out under the name "Autechre," and on the other, because it was decided that Radiohead were Important and Significant last time around, no one can accept the album as the crackpot art project it so obviously is. C'mon, don't be such pussies -- Kid A is either a work of extraordinary genius or a steaming pile of dog turds. There is no middle ground to hide in on this one, and we're sure Thom would want it that way. M is for Mark Morris, lead singer of the Bluetones. Believe it or not -- even we are still rather shocked -- but the fabulous Science and Nature appears to be closing in on 2000's oh-so-prestigious Well Hung Album of the Year Award (England's Grammy). Great tunes well played, sneaky smart lyrics, and a complete and total disregard for popular trends. Top! N is for #1. #2 more like! O is for opera. Having exhausted all prog-rock comparisons on OK Computer, the media has been comparing Kid A to The Wall. Erm, The Wall -- not to mention Radio Kaos -- actually has songs, and a story to boot! That fucking Roger Waters is rolling in his grave -- we wish! P is for promotion. Radiohead -- by which we mean Thom -- hate promotion. In fact, the anti-pop tones of Kid A were directly inspired by the soul-sucking misery of publicizing OK Computer. Note: doing umpteen "exclusive" interviews, appearing on SNL and playing restrictively small gigs in New York and Los Angeles to elite crowds that include Sean Lennon and Winona Ryder is apparently not promotion. Q is for quotas. We're against 'em. R is for rock & roll. Remember rock & roll? We do. Kid A ain't it. R is also for Richard James, who, while he wouldn't be caught dead listening to it, is definitely rock & roll. S is for Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! T is for there, as in "There's no there there." U is for U2, whose new album All That You Can't Leave Behind is out next Tuesday. We are very, very psyched, because there's a bunch of geezers who have learned the hard way that successful experimentation still requires songs. They also know that if you absolutely must inflict your self-indulgent claptrap upon the world, it's best to do it under another name -- y'know, like Passengers. V is for vocals. We actually don't hate all of Kid A. Just when Thom is singing. In that exclusive Spin interview -- which was conducted largely by e-mail, presumably because Our Yorkie is very considerate and didn't want the nice journalists to be freaked out by his lazy eye and club foot -- Thom wondered: "Am I simply in the business of creating the wallpaper to emptiness?" Yes. Yes, you are. W is for wank. Nuff said. X is for XFL. Go Hitmen Go! Y is for Yes. The album art on Kid A reminds us of the embryonic Yes logo Roger Dean did before he perfected his craft. Unsurprisingly, there isn't much by way of liner notes here, just page after page of amateurish scribbling, much of it on tracing paper -- kinda like the album itself, actually. Lift out the black CD tray and you'll find a second secret booklet -- that explains the high list price! -- but it doesn't say a whole hell of a lot either. Z is for Zzzzz, which is what you'll be doing if you try to listen to Kid A all the way through. We did!!!

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do you ever get bored on friday nights got nothing to do well me, I get my binoculars and a bit of jiffy pop and go up to my roof and stare at the tv's in people's windows so get up on a ladder it's not creepy it's not stalking if you're not focusing on the person i'm spying on people's televisions when it gets dark out that one's playing bob's burgers that one's watching football that one's watching something I don't really feel comfortable talking about the cops may take you away but hey it's a decent way to spend an hour why get out a dvd that you've seen a million times before see something new without the audio or clear picture hey it's ok here are the rules/how to do/instruction manual/ whatever you wanna call it;

The Devil went down To Newport town He brought his red surfboard To race against the Lord It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking Satan told his girl, "I'm gonna ride a curl" He caught a heinous wave And he gave the crowd a wave It was totally rocking It was totally rocking They were surfin' for souls To the beat of rock and roll Alright Next came God's turn Got a wicked sunburn He didn't use lotion While he was parting the ocean It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking God said to Satan, "Dude, I'm sick of waitin' In order to win Chuck, you gotta hang ten" It was totally rocking It was totally rocking Things were lookin' rad Oh yeah For the forces of bad Alright Satan went surfin' Didn't need a board Could not hang ten He could only hang four Satan had a problem He could not compete Satan was hindered By his cloven feet It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking It was totally rocking Go, go, Satan, go Go, go, Satan, go Go, go, Satan, go Go, go, Satan, go Go, go, go

figure em out.

I'm trying to figure out where everybody's gone I wonder when they're gonna turn the lights back on I will be nice about it, I will be forgiving And I will act as if I wasn't ever put upon But someone has put something over on me They've pulled the wool down over me and I can't see I can't identify exactly who's responsible But I know where I am and so I know who it could be Louisiana, take this blanket off of me I know you're out there with your hands around my neck And I can feel your breath Now Louisiana, take this thing away Louisiana Louisiana You were not so bad, and I won't be mad If you'll only take this blanket off of me Although I'm glad that Louisiana is a place So I don't have to spin in dark and empty space I wish that everything went just as I wish everything would go I wish I didn't have the blanket on my face Louisiana, take this blanket off of me

almost done

It's my father's voice trailing off Sailors sailing off in the morning For the air-conditioned rooms At the top of the stairs His jaw's been broken His bandages wrapped too tight His fangs have been pulled And I really want to see you tonight There's bourbon on the breath Of the singer you love so much He takes all of his words from the books That you don't read anyway His jaw's been broken His bandages wrapped too tight His fangs have been pulled And I really want to see you tonight Someone ties a bow In my backyard to show me love My voice is climbing walls Smoking and I want love My jaw's been broken My heart is wrapped in ice My fangs have been pulled And I really want to see you tonight It makes no difference to me How they cried all over overseas When it's hot in the poor places tonight I'm not going outside They cried all over overseas And it makes no difference to me When it's hot in the poor places tonight I'm not going outside I'm not going outside I'm not going outside Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

it's crackers to slip a rozzer the dropsy in snide snide

See them over there See them moving down the road Their arms held out ahead And their eyes, their eyes are closed Don't make any noise, Cry out loud, or stamp your feet You'll wake the girls and boys Who are walking in their sleep Every night they throw aside their blankets, Swing their feet down, Stand up, and move out to the street Like they're under a spell And together they roam across the country And they're walking in their sleep You'll recognize them when you see Their rumpled hair and stocking feet It seems like they want something But we don't know what it is But here they come again Yes, here they come again Move aside and let the people go by They don't see you Thinking that they're home in their beds They must not be disturbed When they're wandering all across the country And they're walking in their sleep Perhaps when they awake They'll remember everything They'll think it was a dream It will be forgotten then But don't make any noise, Cry out loud, or stamp your feet You'll wake the girls and boys Who are walking in their sleep