Matt Finish Juan Lynagh

Matt Finish & Juan Lynagh are conjoined twins of unusually low birth. Having been raised in squalid burbian filth befitting of their strikingly poor DNA, Matt & Juan have decided to join as outcasts-in-arms for The Burglar. They plan to rob you of your spare time. And it’s an exciting prospect too; Matt has a welcoming penchant for verb and adjective and Juan has a singular, no-nonsense nous for noun. Yet as is the duality that is questionably found in all things, Matt Finish isn’t one to shine away from the gloss. Likewise Juan Lynagh dreams of regular stand-up gigs, perhaps in the laconic mould of one, Elliott Goblet. Sadly, he’ll never make it. No one goes into the Gobletsphere and gets out alive. Now it’s painfully obvious that Matt & Juan count many chickens, but what do these lads really like to bantam about? Well it’s a crazy, mixed-up town and it’s the proverbial rattlesnake they fear. No, not really, dear reader. To the mentally disturbed, the wanton harbingers of our shared malady reside in our collective unconscious and this is what our kindly gents put their conjoined ears to. Unfortunately their purportedly ultra-low IQ would normally prevent them from sharing anything piercing. But Matt and Juan believe that 77 + 83 = 165 and therefore their two minds together can approximate that of Shakespeare, Pilkington or even Stefanovic. The father of modern physics, Sir Bert Newton would be rolling in his grave. Someone probably famous once said that talent is hitting targets that nobody else can hit and genius is hitting targets nobody else can see. This is awfully, awfully convenient. In the vein of the grandiose and self-righteous, if you don’t like what Matt & Juan are laying down, they will rest the limitations squarely on your own failed perception. One thing is for sure, their pointless drivel will serve to highlight that the internet is not necessarily a good thing. Luckily, readership will be so low that the damage to society may indeed be negligible. Our advice is to appreciate what little time you have left. And leave now, or forever be drawn into the inane. A desolate place we at the Gurgler like to refer to as... the Steve Kinane.