Darrell Vickers: Sobule, It’s Been Good to Know You

Any one who knows me will tell you that I am an unapologetic fan of the practitioners of the Sapphic arts.  The thought or sight of two comely lasses holding hands, kissing or working each other up into a lathery state of tribadic ecstasy is one of the true delights of my tortured existence.  To me, a guy banging on a woman like she was the cowbell in a Blue Oyster Cult song is just sex.  Whereas two (or more) intertwined pink angels sans garmentry is a vision so rapturously pure and beguiling it makes the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel look the mural at a Walmart bathhouse.