stupid tour diary: chicago

we’re sitting at kevin from pass judgement’s posh artschool apartment. apparently chicago is a much better place than minneapolis, although that certainly isnt some grand accomplishment.

we left at 11 am this morning, maybe later. we had to go back and grab some of Logan from Much Worse’s shit out of a car. there, we discovered that we had left all of our shirts in his trunk. i wrote “drunk” instead of “trunk” for the record, then almost did it again writing “trunk” again.

joel sat in the back and drank whiskey and wrote love notes to our notorious weirdo driver, aaron, who kept blasting the mars volta and circa survive. it was fine. we ate at some weirdo diner where max tried and failed to charm the waitress into giving us a smile. i had some salad with lunch meat and too much cheese. there were cheese curds. who cares.

we got a flat tire around madison. who cares. it was kind of fucked because on one side, you have tons of fucking assholes speeding by and scaring you every instant. on the other side, you have an army of crickets shooting everywhere. i walked up and down the side of the road singing a song i wrote called, “master of crickets”

master of crickets
extending your legs
jumping away, and laying your eggs
blinded by me youre a fucking cricket

who cares. they managed to get all the bolts and whatever off but they couldnt get the tire off. so we called triple a and they smashed the thing with the hammer of thor in five minutes and changed the damn thing. then we bought a tire from some very cold and unfriendly wisconsinites for $100.

we got to the show at ranchos huevos with Aaron blasting “Dragula” by Rob Zombie. yeah. lot of kids there, made me feel like i should be a father. missed the first band and caught Culo, who actually played longer than five minutes. then a band called Birth Deformities played. good vocals from some dude who thought i was someone else and apologized over and over again for his mistake.

subclinix and male nurses played. both great. we played and it went well. the rock n roll show was awesome. it whupped a lama’s ass. we butchered Offenders’ “i hate myself” in a fantastic way. who cares. no one really bought our shit and we met up with our beautiful little pixie friend, rachael, from NC. who cares. who cares. who cares.

much worse played and some kid with a nice haircut and a stylish button up shirt killed everyone. i would later find out he actually paid a bunch of money for that shirt and Cody from Culo ripped it, all while being very close to fighting him. dude was not impressed but i’ll tell you, Cody seemed like the kind of dude who would fight you until he was in dead or in jail. i kinda care about that.

kid smashed in to me and busted up my nose. i bled a little and came back. last song i got shoved into the wall and tore my arm open. ranchos huevos gentlemen threw peroxide on the festering cut and bandaged me up before i had the chance to show everyone how cool i was covered in blood. then i threw up. maybe i threw up before. whatever.

blud

as of now, aaron and pat and logan went out walking somewhere. i think they were trying to go to a bar to “slam whores”, in aarons words. i have this song in my head from some band from dudes in fucked up/career suicide but i cant remember the name

we will come back to chicago and throw up all over its bushes again. hopefully max is dead in our van right now

who cares

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