The ship is sinking, the roof is on fire, the chips are down, Elvis has left the building, there's a bad moon on the rise and the shit starts hitting the fan really bigtime. You were too blind (and too stupid) to notice the obvious signs: wet feet, red-hot chinders falling from the ceiling, a sudden lack of Rock 'n Roll music, howling wolves at night and persistent smell of dog-shit everywhere you go. Time for you to make a quick and graceful exit. Your speech goes something like this: "I have the feeling that my inspirational skills are no longer sufficient for the job, the chemistry has gone; it is not my fault ... , nor theirs (significant pause, looking sadder and wiser) ... its just the way things go sometimes. No hard feelings."

Off course, after you disappear from the centre stage you sue the hell out of them ... fucking morons !!!

(Jacco Mokveld)