It’d been a real drone of a week  and as we cornered the last turn on our way home, the last thing we expected to see was a cock fight in which both chickens were given trident missiles to play with. We stopped in and the organiser gave us this CD in a pizza box for free. “Gay For tony Depp or sumthing” written  with a red crayon on the lid... We expected nothing less.

Opening with ‘Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny and Artistic integrity’, the sophomore album is jerked into a boiling frenzy of screams and golden era punk guitars. Closing lyrics “We’re your saviours” impresses into the listeners mind as Alex Newport’s mark stamps itself straight into the veins of GFJD, turning a once plain old mad cow into an furious, coordinated cow on a treadmill. An exciting thought we're sure you will all agree.

In an immediate stumble, ‘Suckcess’ brings nothing but an aggressive yet monotonous march, giving an initial heart thud and although will certainly  leave you out of breath, tiresome clichés that plague the album are unimpressive. Left longing for a kick in the face, psychotic freefall, ‘She has the Hottest  Limp (It’s All Noize)’ electrifies the album into rebirth and stick a taste of leather and blood all the way back into the throat of the listener and suggest new hope for WDKYEKY, like sticking your head out of the window only to get your face ripped off. Jarring guitar riffs and unpredictable turns spasm the album back into shape and tear out every neck hair.

Via the progressive scrag of ‘Humility is for the People...”, and cellar born twin ‘We are the World, Burn it Down’, a Mexican vigilante rises to the surface of the album through the vessel of ‘Rod Don’t Surf’ an intriguing sample based instrumental manically twanging all the way to into the sunset. To ignore tedious bawls of ‘Nine Inch Males’, as the album breaks into the perfectly destructive fantasy of opening single, ‘Pink Flag’ all we can feel is longing for more of the creativity which explode the inspirations a few tracks in which Gay For Johnny Depp really reveal their live presence to the listener.

‘Cum on Feel the Boize’, a parody of Slade’s power ballad, ‘Cum on Feel The Noize’, sticks a welcomed red nose on a perhaps overly stern offering from the American crazy crazies. What Doesn’t Kill You, Eventually Kills You, seems to be an album teetering between old, good natured punky nuts and shallow political belligerance, a poisonous combination. Then again, you can’t stay angry with the guys; track names and isolated thrash wonders alone turn this album into a well worth pizza box. In three words, a perfect EP. - Henry Johns