Songs To Cure Depression :: Danny Small – ‘My Girl’

“Sweeter than warm Cherry Pie.”

Okay, so we’ve entered into a situation where nothing has been wrote on the site since the last “Songs to Cure Depression” and it makes me think one of three things.
1. This should be bi-weekly and I’m writing far too much for one writer to write on one site.
2. We need more goddamn writers on the site.
3. I really don’t give a fuck about points 1 or 2 because this is magic.
So lets run with the latter.

My day (today) started hungover with the low lows, depression had reared its ugly head and nothing I did was getting rid of it. So I hit the bottle, the cowards way out. But I was out , out in the big wide world of the trafford centre when I started drinking so it wasn’t all bad. I was with a good friend (Lewis) and we drank hard, made arse-holes of ourselves and rode the bumper cars.
I’d won a plush PacMan toy from a grab machine and an hilarious 4 year old with his French parents kept us amused in the indoor wetherspoons so I gave the damn thing to him.
“say thankyou.”
Hell. that was good enough for me. Then we played laserquest and as a duo we took on the staff there and won. BUT WE ARE MISSING THE MAIN POINT.
I was introduced to this song this morning (before the low lows fully set in) by a young lady with a great soul and, shit, I was blown away. Maybe this is a testament to how the talented can fall through the slits in grids and become tramps, or maybe it isn’t. I couldn’t tell you. What I can say is that Danny Small has more talent than 12 Olly Murs, 17 Alexandra Burkes, and pisses on Justin Bieber like he was nothing but a bleach cake in a urinal (which has about the same amount of talent.) This is what every miserable shit in a suit riding the subway (or underground as they call in in London ((or BUS as we call it in Manchester))) needs to shoot a hot load of sweaty sunshine right into that glory hole in between the gluteus maximus muscles.
Plus, I love cherry pie.