Aaron McGruder, �Fresh for �01 ... You Suckas!�
Hmmm. Everybody kept asking what happened to my collarbone, and when I finally tell them this place is quieter than church after somebody farts. Unless I�m in that church when said fart happens, because then I�m all �Hey, that guy farted! Good god almighty, he�s got the devil in him! Somebody get an exorcist! The power of Christ compels you to eat a lot of chili, apparently!�
Anyhoo.
Work-related Haiku time!
- Gay club down the block
Hard to judge: punk girl, or gay?
Dworkin purchase. Damn.
Despite Kelly�s demands that I stop pretending that I�m not broken (and by the way, Super Kung fu power congratulations on the acceptance to school in San Francisco. I�ll give you a list of people to meet, and people to kill. Guess which one is longer?), and though I kept asserting that there is nothing to do in San Jose, I�m going to be very busy for the next couple of days.
Tomorrow, I�ll be going to see D.I. with Retching Red. The next day, I�m seeing NoMeansNo. Tuesday, I�ll be seeing them again, only this time with The Freak Accident. And in about a half-hour, I�m heading out to watch The Fleshies.
Four punk rock shows in five days. It�s like I�m 16 again! Only this time, I have to work the next day after every show. Good god, I hope my supply of Vicoden holds out. Just to prove that I�ve matured a little, Etta James performs in two weeks, and I�m going to that as well.
Of course, I am still broken, my arm is still in a sling, and the lump below my collarbone has me worried that it decided to heal at a right angle. So I�ll be going to these shows only to hang out in a corner where I won�t be jostled or run into. In other words, I won�t be seeing you in the pit, motherscratchers.
Which is too bad, as I have this overwhelming desire to put my elbow into the base of somebody�s skull.
