Thee Infecteds – The Macabre Tale Of The Harlots Curse


Imagine Misfits meets The Meteors with the salacious touch of Demented Are Go and the thumping might of Grumpynators involved and you get a sense of the treat to be found within The Macabre Tale Of The Harlots Curse. The debut album from British rockers Thee Infecteds is a bloody stomp of garage punk and psychobilly; a slab of rock ‘n’ roll weaving its own distinct cavalcade of horror bred escapades from familiar and fresh creative cadavers in sound and enterprise, and one rather irresistible blood lust.

Hailing from Newcastle, emerging from its dark mausoleums this year, Thee Infecteds draw on inspirations from the likes of Johnny Cash, Eddie Cochran, Hank Williams, Link Wray, Wayne Hancock, Motorhead, The Meteors, Demented Are Go, and The Cramps among many sparks for their own rousing exploits. They are flavours which at times openly shape The Macabre Tale Of The Harlots Curse but only add to its swift attraction and lingering hold on ears and imagination.

Playing like an aural Tales From The Crypt, each song an episode of blood and death shown in a theatre from where exits “all go down”, the album gets down to business after the introduction of Feature Presentation with The Harlots Curse. With a great cavernous air to its atmosphere, the track opens on the steely riff of Anth Bundy’s guitar, it soon joined by the menacing kisses of Sean Sinner’s beats and further riffs alongside the intimidation of upright bass slapped by Ruby Morgue. It is a carnivorous proposal guided by the potent tones of vocalist Howlin’ Jimmy, he not so much a barker but a narrator to your demise at the whim of the song’s curse.

It is a rousing start quickly matched by the strolling swagger of The Razors Edge, the song a mix of catchy hooks and fifties rock ‘n’ roll guitar courted by the already irresistible presence of Morgue’s bass. Each plucked string is a dark conspirator for ears and imagination more than matched by the tangy enterprise of pick on string by Bundy and Jimmy’s straight to the point attack. The track is too brief but an unstoppable appetite pleaser before the adrenaline fuelled Creepy Crawler has its moment of attention swiftly sealed. With a bit of Guana Batz to the song, its stomps around with attitude and creative barbs which soon has hips swinging and feet bouncing, Bundy’s salty grooves additional pleasure as the song blossoms on its repetitive character.

Both Skulls and It’s Them! keep the album in top gear and pleasure unbridled, each embracing an unmistakable Misfits influence woven into their own highly addictive and virulently infectious guises before Intermission allows a momentarily breather for mopping up sweat and ice cream. Eager involvement is a given throughout the album but the pair demand and receive some of the most zealous with the second of the two leaving the body breathless.

Never Go To Heaven is a less boisterous incitement next, at least initially, it’s gentle coaxing all melodic seduction and strolling rhythms as Jimmy romps alongside yet one more riveting bass riff as it heads towards a tenaciously feisty shuffle. The track does not quite find all the sparks which ignite its predecessors yet still has voice and body hooked before moving over for the lusty enticement of Lay That Chainsaw Down. Hooks and riffs are an enticement which enslaves the senses and imagination with ease, all teasing within a rolling canter under the commanding guidance of Sinner.

The thumping beats and melodic lures of Happy Jack are also an entanglement impossible to throw off, unbreakable chains further provided by the delicious throb of bass while its thick success is only eclipsed by that of Your Love Makes Me Itch, a song which is pure slavery as its nagging bass rhythms and repetitious hooks play with and seduce the imagination. The song is a web of slimline strands of barb littered lines from all concerned, and a united weave which is as rich and thick in temptation as anything on this and many other genre similar encounters in recent times.

The dirty, dark, and destructive romance of True Love Dies brings the album to a close; a Gene Vincent meets P. Paul Fenech flirtation which just hits the spot dead centre before it is time to make for the Exit and the inevitable journey.

With a real lust for good psychobilly/horror rock incitements here our wants are demanding. The Macabre Tale Of The Harlots Curse delivers on virtually every level whilst providing one seriously rousing and enjoyable excuse to unleash the blood lust.

The Macabre Tale Of The Harlots Curse is out now and available @

Pete RingMaster 13/10/2016

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The Cavemen – Too High To Die/I’d Kill


It has been a busy year for New Zealanders The Cavemen from just releases alone. April saw the unleashing of their exceptional self-titled debut album followed in June by the just as rousing and wonderfully arrogant two track single Juvenile Delinquent. Now the quartet of vocalist Paul, guitarist Jack, bassist Nick, and drummer Jake Caveman have freed new offering Too High To Die/I’d Kill ahead of yet another album; the single two slices of the band’s distinctive garage bred punk ‘n’ roll which is impossible not to get lustfully off on.

Now UK based, The Cavemen have arguably unearthed their most primal and trashiest sound for their new single; breeding both tracks with the kind of punk rock which has ignited and corrupted rock ‘n’ roll since the days of Gene Vincent and Jerry lee Lewis, through the likes of Hasil Adkins and The Stooges, and on to the likes of The Cramps, Gun Club, and The Ramones and more. Raw and cast in lo-fi manna, the single sizzles on the senses as it infests the body and purges the psyche like a predacious attack of sonic leprosy.

too-high-frontcover-copy_RingMasterReviewToo High To Die rumbles and grumbles from its first sonic lancing of ears, rhythms cantankerously bouncing as deranged vocal urgency colludes with the winy enterprise of the guitar. The whole song is like one giant chorus such its rousing catchiness with the fiery guitar solo additional toxicity to greedily devour.

Companion I’d Kill is just the same, a virulent stomp from first note to last but even more soaked in seventies punk with a touch of bands like The Saints and The Lurkers to it. A belligerent snarl with more contagion to its persuasion than any plague, the track alone but definitely in union with Too High To Die sparks even more impatient anticipation for The Cavemen’s impending second full-length.

Too High To Die / I’d Kill is out now via Dirty Water Records @!/The-Cavemen-Too-High-To-Die-b-w-Id-Kill-download/p/70351208/category=18119001

Pete RingMaster 23/09/2016

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The Cavemen – Self Titled

The Cavemen_RingMasterReview

With a name like The Cavemen, you instantly give a suggestion of sound and character before a note is flung at ears. Thoughts imagine something raw and primal; a sound stripped to the bone with no concern for niceties and that is exactly what you get in the New Zealander’s self-titled debut album. The Cavemen creates attitude driven garage punk ‘n’ roll which simply stirs up the punk inside and twists it into songs which are as addictively contagious as they are belligerently mischievous.

Formed by a quartet of high school teens, The Cavemen emerged in 2012 after spending “several years of under aged drinking and loitering around the various basements, graveyards and parking lots of their home city.” With their dirty and intrusive sound honed to the virulently imposing height found on the new release, the quartet of vocalist Paul Caveman, guitarist Jack Caveman, bassist Nick Caveman, and drummer Jake Caveman soon began stirring up their homeland’s live scene. That success though was soon facing obstacles which led to the band to looking at moving over to the UK, Paul explaining with the thought, “No bar will have us, no station will play us… We might as well bugger off to the other side of the world.” So now London based, The Cavemen has linked up with Dirty Water Records for the global release of their debut full-length, an album having already ignited eager appetites with its previous limited vinyl release via 1:12 Records.

Think The Cramps and The Stooges meets The Damned, in their early days, and The Ramones and you get a clue to the incitement leaping out from the album’s opener alone. Mentally Ill swiftly has ears and appetite gripped with its brawling lo-fi devilment; guitars and bass creating a swiftly gripping tempting as beats trespass the senses with their antagonistic swing and vocals deliver every syllable in a rabid squall of tone and attitude. Garage rock meets ’77 punk rock, the track is an attention grabbing start to the album instantly backed and eclipsed by the irritable confrontation of Fuck For Hate. Hook and grooves entangle as the song stirs up ear and spirit; vocals egging on the track’s rebellion and discontent as it worms under the skin.

cavemen front sleeve_RingMasterReviewIt too is then over shadowed a touch by the outstanding Stand By Your Ghoul. Straight away the collusion of guitar and bass hooks has lips being licked, then smiling broadly as Hamond-esque keys dance devilishly on the imagination within another handful of tempting seconds. The prime bait reminds of seventies band The Piranhas, or more specifically their single Jilly whilst the bare boned roar of the track manages to come over as something between The Dirtbombs and The Horrors in their early days.

The album’s punk driven rock ‘n’ roll continues to seriously involve and excite body and spirit as the fifty scowling seconds of Scumbag leads to the minute and a half invasive seduction of Rides With The Reich. Barely a track goes by without escaping the two minute mark, a short sharp riot approach which does not stop songs like this also uncaging the most contagious of hooks and swaggers within senses bracing tempests of multi-faceted punk rock.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Retard bristles and romps next; wearing its old school punk nature as sonic belligerence before At The Pub barges in with its gang mentality punk ‘n’ roll. Again there is little resistance from feet and vocal chords as participation to yet another song from The Cavemen is inescapable; a submission given time and time again to its persuasion and to brawls like Fucked In The Head and Drink Driving. Again that garage rock flavouring creates great flames of eventful contrasts in the creative truculence stirring up ears, the second of this pair managing to find an oi! like challenge to get even greedier over too.

The limb throwing swagger of School Sucks offers a fractious anthem next whilst Crimes Tonight squeezes some power pop revelry into its sixties/seventies infested rock ‘n’ roll; a fusion of flavours casting something that is The Sonics meets The Saints like. Both tracks, it goes without saying by this point in the album, has the body bouncing and emotions defiant, the latter aspect even more so with the dirty Motorhead tinged rock ‘n’ roll of Glass Breakfast.

The album closes with the irresistible furnace of Trash Talkin’ Paint Huffin’ Girl, a final fevered stomp of incendiary punk and rock devilry as raw and primitive as it is ferociously galvanic. It is a rigorously boiling end to a thrilling blaze of rapacious rock ‘n’ roll from a band which sparks a new flame, song by song, in the bushfire of pleasure which runs through album and its thorough enjoyment.

Time to free the primitive in us all with The Cavemen!

The Cavemen album is released via Dirty Water Records on April 25th @ and digitally @

Pete RingMaster 25/04/2016

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Raw Fun – Won’t Be Told

Raw Fun_RingMaster Review

December is as good a time as any, maybe the best time with all the festive shenanigans, to get your teeth into something particularly tasty, and that is definitely what you get from Raw Fun. Their three track single Won’t Be Told gets its full release this month through Dirty Water Records/WTF, and fair to say it is a bracing and virulent slab of garage rock ‘n’ roll which strongly entices on the first bite, breeds intoxication with its second morsel, and tightens the grip on the taste buds with a third helping of contagion; it all living up to the band’s name.

Raw Fun Sleeve _RingMaster Review     Formed in the September of 2014, Raw Fun is a London based trio with a potent pedigree between them. Vocalist/guitarist/songwriter Patrice Picard also plays in garage revival band The Cannibals, a band which since the early eighties has uncaged ten albums and a stock load of keenly devoured singles whilst live thrilling audiences all over Europe and further afield when touring Japan twice. Bassist Joaquín Gonzalez has been the guitarist in Las Aspiradoras, fronted low-fi garage band Dedrines, and currently also plays in the reformed Johnny Throttle whilst drummer Manuel Santos has been part of Thee Tombitas and punk band Michael Jackson. Drawing on inspirations from the likes of The Stooges, Link Wray, Wilko Johnson, Johnny Thunders, and Stiv Bators, the threesome upon uniting quickly found and nurtured their own sound, playing their first gig three weeks after their first rehearsal. Just as swiftly Raw Deal also set about recording their first release, Won’t Be Told recorded on an eight-track tape machine with its mixing done by Jim Diamond, formerly of The Dirtbombs who had heard the band on Facebook and offered his help. With shows across the UK, France, and Spain, it has been a busy twelve months for Raw Deal, culminating in the spotlight grabbing release of Won’t Be Told.

The single’s title track comes first, Won’t Be Told releasing an immediately alluring clang with its guitars aligned to just as enticing melodic bait. Rhythms are soon jabbing with relish as the voice of Picard swaggers into view, each colluding with the bass of Gonzalez which prowls the song with its deliciously throaty but welcoming tempting. Those punk and garage rock spices are a swift hue to the song, not necessarily providing anything majorly unique but certainly stirring up a keen appetite for the unpolished and mischievous revelry holding attention.

The best track on the release comes next, Shades a bewitching incitement merging fifties and sixties rock ‘n’ roll with garage punk/psychobilly devilment. The track has a prime irresistible hook which works away right from the song’s first breath, a coaxing which only increases in success with its Bone Orchard meets The Cramps like incitement. Around it though, garage rock spicing colludes with a dirtier punk air as sultry surf rock flirtation seduces and enthrals ears and imagination. The song is superb, easily the pinnacle of the single though more than backed by the other two protagonists of pleasure.

Til the End of the Song is an instant eruption of punk ‘n’ roll devilry with pop infectiousness to its swing and attitude to its rough and ready character. As its predecessor, there are plenty of flavours enrolled in the fiery body of the song, many slim and often subtle hues adding up to one easily accessible but equally uncompromising slice of, well raw fun to be honest.

There is really no better time to treat yourselves than now and if it is to be with some rousing rock ‘n’ roll then Raw Fun gives a very satisfying option.

Won’t Be Told is available from December 14th via Dirty Water Records/WTF @!/Raw-Fun-Raw-Fun-EP-+-download/p/56898794/category=2749844 on 7” vinyl or download.

Pete RingMaster 14/12/2015

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Dick Venom & the Terrortones – SnakeOil for Snakes

Dick Venom_RingMaster Review

Eagerly awaited and as rascally salacious and creatively lecherous as hoped, SnakeOil for Snakes shows exactly why for a great many, Dick Venom & the Terrortones is THE essential British rock ‘n’ roll band. The band’s debut album is a web of flirtation and riot of rhythmic agitation bound up in vats of garage punk contagion posing as songs. It is manna for the insane and inspiration for the lascivious, but most of all, the album is punk ‘n’ roll to get a nation and continent romping.

Formed in 2010 by the inimitable Dick Venom, the Nottingham hailing band has left a fevered trail and reputation behind their live presence, an acclaim infected assault matched in plaudits by their increasingly impressive releases. Aside their own sweaty live stomps, the band has shared stages with the likes of The Meteors, The Rezillos, Bad For Lazarus, Demented Are Go, Lawnmower Deth, The Radiacs, Vince Ray & The Boneshakers, and Savage Messiah amongst a great many whilst first EP RockinRollin VampireMan set the trend for luring strong reactions and praise. Invasion Of The Spider Queen in 2013 only increased awareness and the band’s fan base, with last year’s EP The MonsterPussy Sessions nudging broader spotlights to match the band’s new step forward in sound. Yet another plateau of trash punk invention and pleasure has been breached by SnakeOil for Snakes, its crowd of dirty rock ‘n’ roll bred tracks the kind of thing addiction was invented for.

cover_RingMaster Review     With Wrex St.Clair, Dusty Vegas, and Stevie Vee alongside, Dick Venom is soon infesting ears with his distinctive and zealous tones, leaping forward from the choppy riff toothed entrance of Gun of a Tongue. The opener is soon into an eager stride, interrupting its jagged scenery with glam rock enterprise and sonic mischief. The Rezillos were mentioned earlier and there is an air of the Scottish band as the song bounds into the passions with its garage punk/rockabilly revelry.

I Can’t Find my BrainCell swiftly keeps attention and appetite engrossed and increasingly wanton for more straight after. As a thickly enticing bassline from St.Clair leads the virulence of the song, guitars spring tendrils of sonic temptation whilst beats roll along with a promiscuous tenacity. Venom as ever is a schizophrenic bundle of vocal imagination and rebelliousness, lauding over but only adding to the theatre of the track with his rousing energy, a success only repeated time and time again across SnakeOil for Snakes as shown quickly by TightPants (DoubleHeaded). Surf kissed strands of guitar spin their own irresistible weave as female vocals add a great snarl alongside Venom’s. The song despite its edge is more restrained than the previous pair of songs but just as fiercely catchy and impressive in its fifties rock hooks and tangy melodic imagination.

Three tracks in and it is fair to say that building from the potent inventive base of The MonsterPussy Sessions, the band has honed hooks to be more barbed and gripping with roars even more anthemic and rousing as ideas…well they are shaped by even greater ferocious imagination. Taken from that last EP, Dead Deadbeat Delinquent first time around was proof of a greater adventure being forged and even now, as an old well known friend, it holds the same rich enticement amongst just as devilishly imperious tracks. With bass and guitar bouncing around with slim yet inescapable addictive post/garage punk lures as the beats of Vegas rumble with the senses, the song is primal seduction; everything from toes to emotions quickly recruited and eagerly involved in its fresh psychosis of sound and maniacal enterprise.

Shimmering grooves from Vee welcome ears in next up FFFunny Kinda Luvin, the song’s winy nectar of temptation framed by more inciting rhythms and the measured vocal rowdiness of Venom. Bass and drums subsequently create a tribal enticing as sonic hues smoulder and grow into bedlamic invention around them, it all strung together by a prime hook which even in its absence within the proposal seems to weave rich magic on lustful emotions.

Dirty rock ‘n’ roll colours the walls of Last DumbDregs of Dragsvile after that, essences of The Stooges merging with something akin to The Spits feistily pleasing ears, whilst Go Fuck on the Sidewalk gets garage punk funky with its Cramps meets The Ghastly Ones tango. Both tracks thrill and lead to forceful hip swinging, especially the second of the pair before things get scuzzy with Do The Mash. Though not quite living up to its predecessors, certainly in swift convincing, the track soon boils with its fire of spicy guitar and robust rhythms courted by Venom at his most grouchy and gruff yet.

Taunting with an initial coaxing which surely is a distant relation to something the Knack might have conjured, No Good to get Up To thrills as it spills its intoxicating devilment next. Bluesy to the air, punk rock to the growl, the track prowls and stomps around with attitude and intimidation, igniting another wave of greed from the appetite along the way. It is success emulated by the gloriously lustful seduction of Planet of the HoneyFuzz. Imagine Sweet as Turbonegro and then bound in The Phenomenauts contagion and you have a hint of this unique Dick Venom & The Terrortones treat of an infestation.

   MyWay or the DryWay saunters in next, rhythmic taps a lead into a gorgeous creeping of noir woven creative theatre, whereas Crypt Tonight is a throbbing of garage rock ‘n’ roll which throughout its surf embraced rhythmic meander and melodic shimmering, is like a tongue led insatiable kiss on the senses and passions.

A final trespass of deeply biting and lingering hooks amidst compelling vocal and sonic imagination brings the album to a riveting close, Get Fucked Up Good a brilliant libidinal enticing and entrapment of ears and equally lusty reactions and a sensational end to an album exciting in all departments. Hopes were high and demanding because of The MonsterPussy Sessions, but now left looking lightweight by SnakeOil for Snakes. Dick Venom & the Terrortones are ready to be spoken in the same breath of the garage punk greats yet it is still easy to feel we have still only tapped into the first layer or two of their devious majesty.

SnakeOil for Snakes is out now via Jailhouse Morgue digitally and on 12” vinyl @

Pete RingMaster 09/11/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Atomic Suplex – Fourteen Inches of Fist

Atomicsupplex_RingMaster Review

Great rock ‘n’ roll always benefits from a good dose of creative dementia in its devilry and you get plenty of that and more in the bedlam that is Fourteen Inches of Fist. The new album from London quartet Atomic Suplex is nonstop ingenious lunacy, a dangerous riot for body and soul, and quite brilliant.

The UK quartet has been stirring up sonic trouble for a number of years now, earning increasing acclaim with every release and a reputation as one ferociously exciting and uncompromising band live. Stages across the UK and Europe, as well as Asia, have been shared with the likes of The Hives, Guitar Wolf, The Gories, The Adolescents, Nobunny, The Kids, Jet Boys, Armitage Shanks, Richard Herring, The Spits, The Fat White Family, The Buzzcocks, Theee Bat amongst many more whilst singles and EP’s over time, and certainly acclaimed 2010 debut album Bathroom Party on Crypt Records, have marked the band out as a must investigation for a growing horde of fans. Now it is Fourteen Inches of Fist raising a storm since its recent release, and declaring Atomic Suplex as not a must but the essential riot for all rock ‘n’ roll fans.

Sound and album is garage rock, punk rock, noise rock…any kind of dirty, insatiable rock ‘n’ roll you can think of and a torrent of fun from its first to last breath. One Man Party kicks things off with the announcement “When I say I’m a dick, you best believe I’m a dick! D- I- K.” It sets the aggressive belligerent tone which rousingly fuels the whole album, and a song which is soon erupting into a salaciously tenacious slab of punk ‘n’ roll driven by the rousing tones of Jim Suplex. A sonic web of noise is soon grasping ears through his and Emma Leaning’s guitars whilst a gloriously throaty bass sound is conjured by Dan Suplex amidst the wicked swipes of drummer JD Kickdrum. The track is pure attitude, like early Damned merging with The Sonics, and instant slavery.

The album’s title track comes next, it too a concussive explosion of sound but this time infusing honky-tonk piano, blues rock spicing, and garage rock ‘n roll devilry into its mix of raw sixties and seventies rock ‘n’ roll. Flames of brass only add to the theatre of the muggy scenery as too the gritty backing vocals of Emma behind Jim’s raw incitement. As its predecessor, the track has ears and appetite lustful, a success 14 Inches of Fist relentlessly achieves from first song to last.

Cover_RingMaster Review   Set It On Fire has limbs scything through air next with seventies punk antagonism meets psych rock contagion, its guitars and brass a resourceful scorching, whilst Wild Love invites naughty deeds with a Rocket From the Crypt meets Dick Venom and the Terrortones infestation of sound. Both tracks are ridiculously compelling persuasive yet find themselves outshine by the outstanding Firing Line. The song is manna for the ears and heart, its Mighty Mighty Bosstones like opening alone igniting the instincts to party before rhythms provide a jungle of unstoppable temptation frequented by wonderful squirts of sax. They develop into subsequent deranged toxicity further in, colluding with a just as rigorously arousing web of guitar and bass enterprise. As ever like a side show barker, Jim adds his vocal stirring to the mix for one slice of irreverent creative alchemy.

Fifties inspired and seventies coloured rock ’n’ roll gets the Atomic Suplex corruption next, the raw and caustic devilment of S. U. P. L. E. X. a tempest of sonic and vocal raucousness pierced by melodic bait and fiery hooks. It is less than a minute and a half of catchy mayhem before Two Girls flirts like a punk incarnation of The Shangri-las tutored by The Rezillos. As all songs though, air is raw, sound scuzzy, and the encounter as abrasive as it is virulent, and again thrilling.

   J.D. Attack pounds the senses like the bastard son of a Showaddywaddy and Reverend Horton Heat union, its thumping rhythms and heavyweight brawl of sound one party you know would welcome gate crashers with devilish relish whilst the corrosively scarring Ass Tecnica is noise punk knavery which, as in the previous song, twists anything from surf and r&b to garage rock into its ravenous bellow. The pair unsurprisingly leave exhaustion and exhilaration in their wake, as too the eighteen second punk assault of No Pain No Gain, a song more than backing up its title.

Like The Cramps meets The Mobbs, You’ve Got Some Nerve has the body throwing moves hips were surely not made for across its forty odd seconds, a wonderful physical test followed by some respite through the hex that is Pancho. Sultry sax caresses ears initially though in no time it is joined by a wall of sonic intrigue and adventure which has a whiff of Oh! Gunquit to it. Continuing to spill funky hooks, searing grooves, and a garage bred invention; the song is as psychotic as it is clear infection, and another pinnacle of a very lofty landscape to Fourteen Inches of Fist.

Chicken Rich is a ragtime hued haunt seeded in the past which descends into anarchy the further its nostalgia persists whilst closing track White Shoes is quite simply incendiary rock ‘n’ roll which manages to spin a tapestry suggesting everyone from Billy Haley to The Cramps, King Salami and The Cumberland 3 to Turbonegro, and Screaming Jay Hawkins to Johnny Thunders within its epidemic of unbridled energy and senses inflaming rock ‘n’ roll.

Fourteen Inches of Fist is one of the best real and organic rock ‘n’ roll album this year and of a few before, maybe the best, and Atomic Suplex the one band you were meant to lose your sanity with.

Fourteen Inches of Fist is available now via Dirty Water Records on 12” vinyl, CD, and digitally.

RingMaster 25/08/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright