What up folks?
Well, now I've almost officially recovered from my party hangover, although it will be a while before I can truly recover from my love hangover due to last night's show....
We thanks everyone who trudged out in the nasty cold weather to see us bring the proverbial ruckus at the Middle East last night. You're all troopers. Some highlights:
-Someone in the crowd (or maybe in the band) was dropping BOMBS near the stage. Stinky bombs, if you catch my drift. I mean, it was so severe that a B-52 bomber flew overhead during the show and was like "Damn!"
-There were many new signs in the club rightly advocating increased vigilance in case of emergency. Anyway, in the men's bathroom some a@#hole (not in the band) singed the edges of one of these signs with a lighter. Classy. I wonder what the karma on that looks like.
-Upon returning home I found rock god Peter "12-Gauge" Galea picking a severely D-Con'ed mouse up off the floor. I was really grateful to him for this, that is until he started pretending that he was going to rub the mouse all over me. I don't like mice. That is an understatement.
Oh well, that's it I guess. Until next time....
Many of you attended the second annual glow party held Saturday in the FXA rock house. And for those of you who didn't....well just rest assured that it was a jam.
-To save time, loyal FXA rock associate Brendan Clarke and I hit the bathroom together. And while we were in there someone banged on the door. Now, being told in no uncertain terms to hold his horses, said dude threatened to kick the ass of whoever was in there. Little did he know it was not one, but two strapping and inebriatedly aggressive young men. We emerged with chests puffed out and asked "So, who's going to kick our asses?!?!?" (Ed. Note - The threatener of the ass kicking did in fact back down, but almost certainly could have kicked Brendan and Joe's asses at the same time)
-Someone may or may not have showed their boobs on the official party video. We have analysts scouring all available tape right now.
-The ice "booze luge" was officially determined by Somerville health officials to be the germiest object on earth. Way to go!
-Some dude kept throwing balloons into my ceiling fan. I told him to stop and he yelled "Who the F%#k are you?" To which I replied "Who the F%#k am I? Who the F%#k are you? You're in my room, so knock it off, you d%@k!" I think he may have poured beer into my closet after that just to spite me.
-There was lots, and I mean lots, of cursing.
-Last but not least: Approximately 200 friends and strangers drank about $400.00 worth of liquor and left $18.00 in donations. Classy.
Rock and roll...
So, on the way home from the Big Apple yesterday (many thanks to everyone who came out on Saturday, we had a rockderful time) the boys of FXA had perhaps the worst meal of all time. I mean, it was really really really
It all started innocently enough. We rolled into Meriden, CT with some KFC love on our minds, hoping to fight the hangovers from the previous night with some greasy ass chicken. Fair enough, but I knew this trip might be ill-fated when when we arrived at the Colonel's and I went into the bathroom. All I wanted was a little pre-order pee pee but what I got was a sizable amount of poo
in the corner. Poo
, people! And even worse than that was that the poo did not smell. At all. This fact raises the inevitable question, debated for hours afterward, of "just how long has that poo been there?"
And things didn't get much better once we got our food. Good friend P-Diddy McLang was already eating when I sat down and had a look of utter displeasure on his face. When I asked him what was wrong he answered, and I quote, "I guess I must have mistakenly ordered the Three-Piece Pile of Crap Meal, because that's certainly what I got!"
Now, 12-Gauge was in the same situation, having apparently also ordered the Three-Piece Pile of Crap meal, although he got his extra crispy. Regardless, he was also pissed. And although I felt bad for them, I was pretty glad at this point that I had ordered the always tasty, and very difficult to screw up, Chicken Twister Sandwich. For those of you unfamiliar with the CTS, it's three pieces of fried chicken in a bun with lettuce and a tangy mayonnaise that is just... well... yum. Unfortunately, with my first bite all my condescending pity left me. This particular CTS tasted like sand wrapped in styrofoam, with some dry leaves thrown in for good measure. Where was my juicy delicious chicken? Where was my non-horrendously-stale bun? Where, in god's name, was my tangy mayonnaise?!?!
We choked down what we could and got the hell out of there. The trip couldn't even be salvaged by the new KFC cups which show the Colonel churning the butter when you spin them. The Colonel churning the butter, people!
Oh well.... Stay out of Meriden, folks. It's dangerous country...