Our wonderful world is blessed with some pleasant oddities. For instance peacocks. The beasts look like Victorian chickens owned by rich people who have far too much land on their hands. Odd but pleasant. Unless you squawk at them up close. Then there is just plain, mind-boggling oddness which is so loopy, it's genius. Take Iceland's Gisli. He looks like a Scandinavian Hobbit given an expense account at Top Man. His name also translates to "Hostage". (Seriously).
And to top it off, this deranged solo trash-popper is what a coke-fuelled Josh Homme, Monster Magnet and the Bloodhound Gang performing on Eurotrash would sound like.
You can't deny Gisli for his bluntness and crowing at the vermin of reality TV. But perhaps he should follow this bit of advice from Virgil: "It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task."
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