The Wheelies are in trouble. They can’t play their instruments properly. They are so wasted they are incapable of operating even the most basic recording equipment. They are too paranoid to play live. They can’t find a Ringo that fits. Their singer keeps jumping out of trees in his pants and quitting the band. Their lead guitarist has developed a phobia of guitars. Their bassist is incapacitated with a serious case of sand in his eye. Moppy is possessed and lost in transit. They have a band member who doesn’t even know he is a band member. Bob Dylan won’t return their phone calls. In a nutshell, they are totally fucked. All that’s left for you to do is sook the bools, find a comfortable position far enough away from the fall-out zone, and listen while the whole thing falls spectacularly to pieces.