Uneducated Former Children Sue Pink Floyd

he disturbingly enduring English space-rock band Pink Floyd has come under fire this week, thanks to a lawsuit filed by twenty former children who sang on the band’s 1979 hit “Another Brick in the Wall.” According to lawyers for the now-adults, Floyd never paid them for their services, and also didn’t bother to use them on the band’s 1983 follow-up The Final Cut, which sucked hard because of it.

“These children gave minutes of their time, time that could have been spent in the classroom learning about fish, to contribute to this album, with only years of local notoriety and a permanent place in rock ‘n roll history as their reward,” explained the former-children’s lawyer, Theodore Chuck. “It’s time this injustice was rectified, and by that I don’t mean ‘put up your bum.’ As I’ve explained to my clients time and time again, that’s not what ‘rectified’ means.”

While recording the track for their hugemongously successful 1979 album The Wall, Floyd’s management recruited the children from nearby Islington Green School, offering the school’s music teacher Alun Renshaw 1,000 pounds and “a shot at Debra,” a reference to one of the band’s roster of loose groupies. The teacher insists that aside from getting his rocks off with the Floyd groupie, he wasn’t compensated in any way for the children’s appearance on the album. The 1,000 pounds apparently went to the school itself, which it reportedly spent on adding windows to the grim, lightless building which had originally been used as a slaughterhouse.

“We were just going to go over how they make pickles that day,” explained Renshaw. “So I figured what the hell.”

School officials were mortified when they discovered their students’ involvement in a song with the lyrics “We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control, no dark sarcasm in the classroom – teachers leave them kids alone.”

“We just thought they were terribly hackneyed,” explained Islington’s headmistress Margaret Maden. “And at the time we were worried that this song would inspire British children to take less interest in their education. But what we quickly learned was that Pink Floyd only inspired prolonged attention in the heavily stoned, and except for those jokers who sang on the album, the rest of England’s children quickly went back to their studies.”

Those jokers, however, went about their own not learning with a passion, sure they would be able to coast through the rest of their lives on their association with the psychedelic prog-rock band. The academic habits of the twenty children involved, already questionable, took a turn for the worse after the song’s astonishing success. The children then felt like they needed to respect their newfound roles as spokeschildren for a generation, and feared being branded as sellouts if they were to learn their multiplication tables. Repeated efforts by teachers to point out that nobody in the outside world even knew who they were met with consistent failure. Convinced that stoners everywhere were praising them for their anti-establishment stance and their collective position on dark sarcasm in the classroom, the children succeeded in failing to learn anything for the rest of their academic careers.

After Floyd refused to prolong the children’s careers through more backup singing opportunities, Renshaw attempted to wrong that right with the children’s follow-up album in 1981, We Don’t Need No Hygiene, Neither. But without Pink Floyd’s publicity machine the album was doomed to fairly poor showing, selling few copies. Worst of all, Renshaw learned he’d been beaten to the punch by some knob over in Langley, Canada, and was personally sued for stealing a bad idea.

Though thoroughly uneducated, the now-adult claimants are clear on their expectations for a delayed slice of the Pink Floyd pie.

“I don’t know, I think we should get a million, trillion pounds,” offered former schoolchild Roary Mills. “A kapchillion maybe.”

“No way,” argued fellow former child Paul Richards. “I’m not getting ripped off. I won’t settle for anything less than twenty-five pounds.”

Should the matter go to trial, Mills believes the legal process will involve throwing fruit at the band until the truth is revealed. Richards, on the other hand, believes the judge will turn Pink Floyd upside-down and shake them until enough money falls out for everyone to buy ice cream. Stan Chancey, the group’s expert on the legal system due to his having seen a courtroom drama on television years ago, explains to the others that a jury of their peers will decide Floyd’s fate, meaning the jury will be made up of assorted British rock ‘n roll legends.

Chancey envisions seminal British rockers like Eric Clapton, Ray Davies and the Rolling Stones delivering their verdict via an electrifying supergroup courtroom concert the likes of which the world has never seen. If the jury decides in favor of the band, Chancey explains, look for them to reprise the obscure George Harrison classic “Not Guilty,” especially if Harrison himself is on the jury. If Floyd are found guilty, however, the band may compose a brand-new tune to unveil at the verdict reading, with a title something like “They’re Guilty,” which will likely feature each of the jury members singing a line of lyrics in turn, sort of like the Traveling Wilburys or that big Dylan benefit concert years back.

Chuck, who has long since given up explaining the British legal system to the former children, hopes the settlement will be large enough for him to retire and never have to deal with the uneducated ever again.

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It's about time someone came out and said it, good people, and I will be the first, if you ignore the looming headline: We've been too lenient on those Russians!

What inspires this angry anti-red rhetoric, you ask? Nothing, none of your business. It certainly wasn't related to my decision to remain just friends with Russian bride Molga. It's just time someone reminded the rest of the world Russia hasn't changed their ways at all since the fall of the Soviet Union.

In the 1950s Stalin convinced the world everyone in Russia was living a perfectly happy, Wizard of Oz-like life. At first I was skeptical; but after that minute, I decided it looked good enough to try. That was my first attempt to visit Russia, and though I shouted unsavory thing about the Department of Foreign Affairs at the time, I now realize they acted in my best interest. It's plain from all that footage that turned up after Stalin's death that everything is dreary and ugly over there—they don't even have color. All this talk of the red menace I didn't quite expect so much gray.

I'm not afraid to step on politically correct toes, even mash them until the nails flake off and become bloody and swollen and bruised. I'll come right out and say it: The Russians are weird. It should be obvious, people, they kept that nasty shellacked body of Lenin in the Moscow equivalent of the town strip mall for years. You'd think somebody would wonder what that curious smell is and bring up the suggestion of burying him, but no, not the Russians. And don't get me started on the way their awful cock rock bands completely ape everything off our awful cock rock bands. That bugs me to no end.

Then in the 1960s Kruschev goes on an on about how the Soviet Union will bury us. Fat chance, you can't even bury one crusty Russian cadaver, I don't see you digging 200+ million holes in the cold hard Siberian ground. They brag about sending the first man into space, but everybody knows they never got him back so it doesn't count. Then by the time the 1980s roll around they claim to have enough nuclear weapons to compete with us in a nuclear war, and now it's common knowledge they only had one jeri-rigged nuke put together with duct tape and Play-Doh. Yeah, that will help—we threw all that Star Wars money away on nothing.

If there's one thing that should be clear about the Russians by now, they can't tell the truth. They get a kick out of lying like I get a kick out of netted briefs—it's something they'll never admit to, but it thrills them like nothing else. Whether it's backtracking on a treaty with Hitler which he had good intentions of keeping or if it's an ex-KGB Russian mafia tough disguising himself as a woman on the internet to get a free plane ride over to the states courtesy of a short, handsome-challenged, sex-starved columnist. Hypothetically. What I'm saying is, don't trust 'em. Not now, not ever.

Incidentally, since I apparently have a few lines to spare to this column, I would like to make an announcement on behalf of Boguslaw Sadowski, the friendly cousin to fellow commune columnist Boris Utzov. He is seeking to start up a business involving the numbers and invites you to invest start-up capital, with extremely good odds you will receive a big, big return.

Boguslaw is quite a charming new foreign friend. In exchange for my recommendation to help him with his new business, he will help me find Camembert, who has recently turned up missing from our apartment. Boguslaw is nearly 100% sure Camembert will be in the same condition as when he disappeared.

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Hello commune. Boris is back and black, but not of the skin. This is mistake thinking because of Boris dirtiness. Is okay, happen all times that person think Boris black but not like in ACDC musics.

If reader remember from last column time, Boris is at airplane place port to save world from such bad pilots. Is Boris job to keep persons off plane who doesn't not know about flying so good. Thanks to super powers of Potato Boris, is now safe to sit in building and not look out for airplane coming so holy shits time to duck. Yay for safe!

After long searching in sky, Boris finally does find airport hiding on ground. So clever this place. Then Boris does take time to learn way around new crime-fighting office. Is important to know where is Cinnabon and where bathroom for taking grumpy. Hard part is that all good places for snack are in terminal part of air place port, not ticket room or baggage garage where Boris is locked. To get into terminal thing Boris must past test of security, where there is hard question riddles and magic machine to scan skeleton thing. Boris try this challenge few times and oh no, is not so good. Boris is stump with riddles and man says for Boris to get ticket to go on rides. But ticket person does not want special "Boris Owes You" money (BOY) and Boris does not have fast car to get free ticket from police. This is hard part of superhero life.

After few days Boris decide is time to tell truth, that is important business for Boris to get terminal to save plane persons and building persons from not-good pilots who is fooled to think is good pilots, so Boris must use superpowers of Potato Beetle to stop these things and make persons safe for them to love Boris.This is good idea from Boris brain, because Boris story so confusing man lets to go through as long as Boris does promise not to come back. Yay for confusing Boris story!

Terminal is like magic hallway place with persons carrying baggage things like giant ants and are stores in case person changes mind about flying and does want to shop instead. So nice. But Boris cannot enjoy wonderful things, is on serious important mission to stop crime.

Good thing Boris does not waste time in beautiful magnet store, because right away Boris does see pilot so clumsy to drop hat when running to catch plane. This person no good to fly plane! Him is too clumsy like Boris for safe landings. Boris drive car one time and is no good at landing part, smashing up animal store and all animals do get out and have party. Oh no, this is so bad to have happen with big plane, could let out too many animals and whole city is crazy animal party. So Boris cannot let clumsy pilot crash plane because him is so busy looking for pretzel dropped on floor while flying. To prevent? This is job for Potato-Boris!

Potato-Boris does jump into fast action to tackle clumsy pilot person with running jump thing. This is so good, watching persons does yell oh shit. Boris stands up to say you are welcome for being safe to all airport persons, but before Boris can soak up appreciation, there is bad pilot's security guard friend there to have superfight. Too bad for him not to know of Potato-Boris powers.

Guard person does challenge Boris, and him has stick thing for hurting Boris, so is time for using superpower of dropping pants. Is not power for childrens to see, but is necessary sometime for stopping bad crimes.

Hold on, stop this thing. Boris must take a grumpy. Be back in five of the minutes.

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