Brain Tumors

we got to eric from sickoids’ place as he’s an old pal of our bassist, joel, from north carolina. we had to fight Rachael pretty hard to prevent her from going back to her house and giving us all the scabies that her roommate contracted in turkey, or however the fuck they got there. difficult conversation. the next day, we spent our time lining up to shower and at some coffee shop that was described as a lesbian hangout. i dont think it was. they used organic eggs and had breakfast burritos for fucking $3.70! goddamn incredible. it was good, too. i met some dude playing chess and found out he was an EMT, so he told me to run to the drugstore and he’d fix up my arm. i think instead i just ended up using some tape from the shop and washing it out in the bathroom. or maybe i left it open? i cant remember.

there was a chick working at the coffeeshop wearing a SLAUGHTER shirt, for the thrash metal band, not the shitty 80s band. then another chick walks in and has a Nuclear Assault patch on her cut-off shorts. what the fuck

i think me, dan, amelia, and pat went to the drugstore where dan bought a male urinal and i bought some gauze and medical tape. we stopped by a farmer’s market and ate some apples while realizing that every fucker in west philadelphia is cool. seriously, any person who walks by you says “good morning” and gives you a huge smile. really unexpected and nice. we went back to the house and watched joel, eric, and amelia all geek out about japanese hardcore records and then made plans to go grab matt from Leather and to go to brad and john from Leather’s house, as our show got cancelled due to the weather and possible flooding basements.

joel and logan almost fought because rachael left with someone and logan wondered if she went back to her house. joel kept assuring him and logan kept pressing him. i dunno, someone smacked someone in the back of the head. wish it came to punches, would’ve been a fun battle.

we grabbed matt and i helped him carry a whole bunch of barbequed chicken, vegan chili, and about sixty beers and headed over to their huge house. it’s a huge place even by minneapolis standards, but gigantic by philadelphia standards. two staircases, a fucking dining room with a fifteen foot dining room table accented by a disco ball. covered back yard area for people to smoke.

we played a bunch of sega and ate a bunch of food. there were some horrible things that happened, mainly aaron and pat went out to grab some girl from the suburbs to bring back. after being gone for an hour, we called and only got, “dude, i’m talking to the cops right now, bye,” and then aaron hung up. we called pat and pat basically said the same thing – “uh, aaron’s up against the car and he’s getting handcuffed. i dunno, i gotta go.”

fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck.

so then pat and this little lady come through the door. the girl said she drove the van and trailer and pat is all wide eyed and horrified looking. i’m punching myself in the head over and over and over again and suddenly aaron comes through a side door or something, smiling. that fucking asshole – especially because back in columbus, he tricked me and max at the repair shop saying “tour is over unless we cough up $2000. the van is fucked.”

and he fucking tricked me before we left when i called him and he told me that his van wouldn’t start. goddamn, what a bastard.

so in retribution i called joel and told him the same bullshit story. lied to him pretty hard, tried to justify it by talking about the time joel convinced me that Toad the Wet Sprocket was gonna tour with Burzum. joel seemed to take it rather well, but then didnt take it well at all when he found out i was lying. my joke fucked up everyone’s plans and freaked everyone out and caused some damage. logan reassured me that it wasn’t funny. i felt bad, but at least i could create some sort of “fuck drew” camaraderie to unite people.

we got really messed up with people smashing florescent lights over brad’s back and throwing beer bottles in the air and hitting them with a samurai sword while a tropical storm whipped through the city. dan got some glass caught in his leg from one of the bottles.

when it got late enough, we decided to go back to eric’s and max and logan used the male urinal. logan pissed 16 ounces and max pissed 10 ounces. the next morning, examining the van and the male urinal, we noticed there were only 20 ounces in the male urinal.

the male urinal pissed the van and one of rachael’s shirts. we walked around west philadelphia again and ended up at another coffeeshop after walking into one place and just kinda looking around before deciding there wasn’t enough room for us. we met a developmentally disabled boy named Daniel who was wearing a nice red hat and perfectly matching red golf pants. we went back to eric’s where i mopped his kitchen floor and pet his amazing cat, then listened to everyone gossip about who’s an asshole and who isn’t sending out records and who is taking money from who.

eric and mo are fucking great hosts. we left and it looks like all that happened from there is that logan unwrapped a fortune cookie he found and saw that it had a pube cooked into it. then rachael told the story of Lazy Jane, who was a heroin addict at a squat of heroin addicts out in philadelphia who overdosed and died on a couch. instead of calling the cops or doing anything, they just let her sit there and rot until she became part of the couch. apparently there are pictures of people with lazy jane, who no one ever really found out the name of or where her body really belonged.

lazy drew

i didnt take any notes on new york for some reason, but here’s what i got:

from pittsburgh we blasted out to new york. nothing was memorable other than the smell of new jersey and paying $800 in tolls. aaron had a panic attack in some tunnel with swirling lights. we get into new york and predictably, we don’t what the fuck we’re doing. we’ve got three dipshits with smartphones trying to navigate through space and time itself, all yelling different directions. we got looped around over and over again, all while checking on updates on the supposed hurricane that was going to decimate new york.

“you know Escape from New York? thats what this shit is gonna be like. you guys gotta take this seriously,” someone said.

after circling and denying internet maps long enough, we made it to the holland tunnel where we were informed we could not go in. they pulled us to the side and immediately some fucking asshole jersey cop started to yell at aaron to get out of the van. aaron grabs his trucker hat and puts it on backwards, then gets out and the cop starts yelling, “what the fuck are you doing, put on a fucking shirt!”

we hand aaron pat’s Organized Sports shirt and he cringes but slides the goddamn thing on, all while yelling back at the cops. they pull him back and start asking him questions about the trailer and demanding for him to open it up. after realizing it’s just a bunch of shitty band equipment the prick tells aaron, “i’m not letting you assholes go through the tunnel. nope. you got people who arent sitting in seats.”

aaron storms back up to the van and yells, “everyone get in your fucking seats, we’re going through this tunnel!” by then, the dickhead supreme cop seems to be getting talked down by one of the more reasonable cops.

YOUNGSTER ON THE FORCE! YOUNGSTER ON THE FORCE!

aaron jumps in and yells, “thanks a lot, faggot,” at the cop and we bail.

we get to stolen sleeves collective and it’s kind of this cool loft inside a big warehouse building. i imagine people from new york will understand what that means and no one else will. the kids at the space and the dude who booked the show were really nice, but there were a few fuckheads who basically rolled their eyes after any of us said anything. as you cant drink at stolen sleeves, i was in the trailer, having a beer to ease the extreme anxiety i was feeling from how stressful driving through the city was. and for fun.

then a cop car rolls up and gives me and joel and logan $25 drinking tickets. at least they were nice about it.

we played and pat broke two strings. for shits i grabbed pats guitar strings and started dragging him around and cut one of my fingers, but we still finished our set a few people seemed to care, but they all stood there. same thing for much worse, same thing for death rats who were pretty decent. dont remember or care about the other bands. after the show, we sat on the roof of this big building and talked. we also got to see one of my best friends, ryan, our friend michelle, the brilliant jason dorkleson, and one of the gems of minneapolis who just relocated out to new york – angie from varix/question. amelia joined our hell-party and will be with us until asheville, nc. now we have ten people at this point.

last time my friend ryan met jason, jason kept talking about blood and all sorts of weird shit, getting mega tanked and acting like a deranged asshole. so it was funny when ryan said, “hey dude, good to see you again” to jason and i interrupted with, “no it’s not, you hated this guy”. i think they got along this time.

we all went to some bar and stressed out about the hurricane. i sat and talked to the gorgeous bouncer about one of her friends that had died after taking some super powerful drugs that someone gave him and said it was ecstasy.

then we all drank and argued about what to do for the night, some of us wanting to stay with ryan and enjoy the city after such bullshit getting there, while other people thinking a little more rationally and realizing that there may be a major event that i dunno, maybe rolls our van and trailer over and kills all of us and that we should leave while we can. so we left, but only after aaron smashed a glass on the ground after arguing with ben from much worse. after that, all sorts of people started smashing glasses on the ground. glass party 2011 no rules

we drove to philadelphia with everyone pretty wrecked and me still out of my mind from lack of sleep. at some point, pat grabbed my leg and i almost decked him across the face just for touching me. someone once called me “the angriest man in the world”, but i like to think ive calmed down since then. i think i ate at burger king on the way, which, by the way, was a bad idea. logan from mw tried to order a veggie burger and they kept trying to talk him into having a vegetarian whopper, which is a shitty cheese sandwich. it was weird how much the dude didnt want to make him the fucking veggie burger.

we got to Kopec’s in Pittsburgh and i don’t remember what anyone said in the van or what anyone did in the van on the way the way. i think i tried to sleep mostly but sleeping in the van is like sleeping on planes. unless you’re drugged up, youre basically twitching in your seat with your eyes closed. so we got there and got a phone call from Garrett from Male Nurses.

“uhh, you know that epiphone that pat borrowed during your set?”
“yeah?”
“uhhh we have that guitar. we took it accidentally.”

we have no idea where the back-up no-name guitar that Tim gave us turned up as they said they didn’t have one. so two guitars lost on tour with plans for Terrordactyls, a thrash band out of Minneapolis, to recover them in Boston and bring them back. or Allston. no idea if they’ll actually do that or if we’ll just be out a guitar, but i’d like to think they’ll do what needs to be done.

so we get there and we meet up with Tom from Heartless and the honorable Dave Watt who did our 7″ art and is in Girlfight and a band called Sheep. i lived in Pittsburgh for a while and these gentlemen kept me sane along with other great company who arrived, Katie and then later, this kid named Jordan. but that’s all a bunch of personal who gives a fuck stuff – i could’ve just written “WE LIKED THE PEOPLE WE KNEW IN PITTSBURGH”. this first band played and i didn’t listen to them but i heard they were decent. Means to an End. that band name sucks. but so does Brain Tumors. then this band called Drug Lust played and all wore ski masks. noisy, angry, evil shit with dudes wearing ski-masks.

weird kids, too, in that way where you appreciate that there are people like that who exist and are not bullshitting about it. after the show, i had a splinter in my hand and within ten seconds, two members of Drug Lust were brandishing fold out knives and offering to help me remove it. i got it out, much to the dismay of everyone else.

Kopec’s is a fucking cool bar. most of the night was a buncha nice black folk downstairs and a bunch of grungy white kids upstairs, meandering about.

we played and Max from Much Worse said we did well. one of the dudes from Drug Lust actually bit me on the arm, i think. i’m not sure, i’m covered in tons of bruises. i screamed in a bunch of people’s faces and did my usual thing where i just stumble around and fall on people.

after the show i left with my friends Katie and Dave and went to some bar where i met a dude with the last name of SNOWDEN from Milwaukee. we talked about how he is black and people are dicks to him. dude’s an engineer i guess and i asked him if he went to school with a friend of mine from Minneapolis and his head exploded when he recognized the name. the world is small, but everyone knows that. he gave me his number and told me if i’m ever in milwaukee, he would fly back and hang out with me.

katie and dave and i went to the giant eagle grocery store and bought junk food, sat around and ate pizza and watched seinfeld. i rotted away for the night on the floor with cat dander fucking up my nose.

got a ride the next morning to a shopping center off the highway. after waiting a number of minutes, i called Joel and all he said was,

“we’re getting pulled over right now. call you back.”

last tour i was on, people got pulled over and arrested for a bunch of shit out in the middle of Tennessee, so i’m way fucking nervous about cop related things. i sat at a Panera bread listening to some woman with mutated arms scream at her grandson to do things for her, giving him precise instructions on how much ice to refill her coca cola.

“BRING ME MY CANE!”

at that point i’m tired and sick on lack of sleep, basically ready to throw up all over her. but the cop shit was fine, apparently they got pulled by a state trooper/truck inspector who noticed that everyone in our van is a fucking twit and gave us advice like

- You are not a band
- You are not on tour
- In the trailer is just luggage
- You are just passing through

we were pulled for having no lights (which we keep trying to fix) and apparently if youre traveling as a band, you need to have a DOT number.

somewhere in pennsylvania, a butterfly slipped into the van window and smashed into aaron’s face.

i keep buying shit at gas stations for pat to wear. he also has a flat brimmed hat with a dollar sign on it - which he bought.

alright, i’m not drunk now so lets try this again

i forgot to mention the totally rotted sack of potatoes on top of Negative Kevin’s refrigerator. kid has absolutely no food unless he’s a fucking goat. then i guess everything is food. i picked up this bag and this putrid stench floated out. i made the mistake of smelling the liquid i got on my had from the bag and had a nice wretch party with whatever moron was still awake. the other dudes took a $30 cab ride to wrigley and dorked around at a bar for a brilliant half an hour. max was not dead in the van.

the tour quickly turned into a shirtless dude/fuck ac party. but not me, dawg. we ate at some yuppie restaurant with pretty girls working and getting leered at while Negative Kevin sipping on a San Peligrino. i tried to take a picture but he told me to stop being mean to him. i felt bad, but i dont know why after looking back.

getting back to the van we discovered a quarter-sized spider had set up shop across aaron’s window and steering column, providing a priceless picture of aaron with a death chill. max burned it to death like John Carpenter’s THE THING. i still feel bad about killing insects. we left chicago and ventured out to look for an oil change in a land of nothing but payless footwear and other dogshit businesses that don’t matter. we didn’t find the oil change and i washed my arm out with some peroxide in a parking lot. the fun part was wandering into gas stations with what looked like a bullet wound asking, “HEY YALL GOT ANY GAUZE ROUND HERE?”

Joel is behind me explaining Civilzation IV to our friend, Rachael. and now Rachael is pissed because she found out her roommate has scabies.

“hey Rachael, aren’t we supposed to stay with you?”

“yeah.”

“hahahaha.”

and now our van window on the driver’s side is broken as we go into what has been dubbed “a fucking hurricane”. yeesh.

we drove through illinois where the most interesting thing was a few mile stretch of a river of garbage sitting on the side of the road. sea of shit. isn’t that a band or something? we went to guitar center and putzed around and bought some thing that will connect two guitar rigs so ben and pat will sound like they are summoning demons while they play. i’d call guitar center a guilty pleasure but there is nothing pleasurable about it – it’s not even some sort of laughable experience like going to a rural wal-mart. it’s just some bland, safe, sea of shit with strings. like if Nickelback was a store. regardless, it’s a better corporate death to our country than getting engulfed in fire. we are the spiders

a bunch of people took some drugs and it made absolutely no difference to the environment of the van. “it makes for a nice bus ride,” someone said. huh?

Negative Kevin is an alright dude. a dandy motherfucker for sure, but fine. a golden retriever in a total abuse shirt.

in illinois, we got our second flat tire on the road where Everything Is Fucked And Cars Go To Die. the fucking thing exploded and convinced me we were all Cliff Burtoned the fuck out of reality forever, but Aaron held it together and pulled us on the side. we were prepared (whatever) and got it changed pretty fast, especially after noticing that instead of the side of the road being filled with crickets, it was filled with giant spiders. jesus fuck, what’s with all the spiders? as we are loading up, the key to the trailer lock breaks off in it. driving away, we saw tire after shredded tire after dead car after dead cat sitting on the side of the road. fuck you, highway 70.

“fuck you, indians! we just lost Stonehenge one turn until it was finished.” we are not racist, just dorks. Civ IV.

we made it to Bourbon St Cafe in Columbus amongst a myriad of boarded up homes. there was a small market next door run by one of those dudes where no matter how nice and gracious you treat him, you can tell all he’s thinking is, “fuck off, kid, get your Butterfinger and go back to the bar.” the show almost didnt happen because they had some “Hip Hop DJ Night” going on, but there were just a bunch of dudes in baggy black pants and cheesy death metal shirts who were there for it. Hip Hop in Columbus must fucking suck. the show started and some band played where the singer looked like Jake Bannon from Converge. kid, if you ever read this, youre super nice but you look like Jake Bannon. Jake Bannon, if you ever read this, you also look like fucking Jake Bannon.

Man is the Bathroom. that bathroom was….i had to take a deep breath even thinking about it. that bathroom was a complete abomination. according to my notes, the bathroom smelled like someone baked a cake out of ground pork, fed it to a dog and then lit it on fire. it was worse than a moroccan bus station. we played our set and i don’t remember a whole lot other than i bit some guy wearing a polo shirt. why the fuck am i biting people during our set? the sound guy was also our cook and his lasagne was great. Much Worse played and sounded fucking great. it was the only time i have ever headbanged while eating a side salad. Subclinix and Male Nurses also ripped and taught us how to drink Black Label out of a straw. they also had a two week old kitten with them.

“where does the cat shit?”
“we don’t really know.”

we loaded our shit out and went to drive to get food and go find the kid who booked the show’s house while blasting Bohemian Rhapsody – Pat screaming like a 6 year old at his Chuck E. Cheese birthday party. apparently Joel sung that song the same night he blacked out in Austin, TX, and woke up with a mathematical equation tattooed on his leg. according to him, it’s an embarrassing equation. here’s another embarrassing equation: Brain Tumors + Much Worse. we ate some fried cheese at some weird “alternative” pizza place while Dan “Fuckhead” Johnson talked to some dude who writes for the local homosexual magnet about the gay scene between cincinatti and columbus.

the rest of these notes dont make a whole lot of sense:

van strobe light, bad potatoes, segway cops
logan gargling spit

god, i hope those arent my new lyrics.

we kept trying to find the house we were supposed to stay at but we realized we didn’t really get the address. so we went to where we thought it was and walked around the neighborhood, standing in a vacant lot, watching lightning while someone in the van blasted Seal’s Kissed By A Rose in the distance. eventually we made the adult decision to find a hotel. drunkenly, i flagged down some cops driving by and asked them where the nearest hotels were. they gave us some directions (navigating by the nearest “B-Dubs”) and suggestions and started to pull away. as they left, i came up to the van to find out that our trailer lights are fucked, so i ran back out in the street and flagged the cops down.

“hey man, we’re just trying to get to this hotel you told us to get to and we just noticed our trailer lights are out. we have an appointment tomorrow at 7 to get them fixed but for now, we’re just kind of worried about the safety issue. what do you think we should do?”

so then we got a police escort to the hotel while we sloshed around the van to “Purple Rain”. we got the room and bullshitted with the counter guy about his psychology homework, found a spider on logan from Much Worse’s back, then shotgunned beers on the balcony. somewhere over the course of the night, Rachael said, “there’s a net for my vagina!”

woke up and fucked off, called a million places for an appointment to get our van checked out and got turned down everywhere. we had some dudes at Faslube check our shit out as much was they could while they changed the oil and told us about a band called Lumberjack Death Squadron or some shit. one of those usual, “oh you’re in a hardcore band, you should check out this band that sounds like Mudvayne,” or whatever situations i’m assuming. whatever, nice dudes, real helpful. somehow ended up in this fucking mad max zone full of used tires and sat in the van while we watched Aaron negotiate tire prices and some dude who looked like Bas Rutten clean trash out of his car. Aaron said he was scary as fuck, but he gave him the “dude, i got tattoos too,” head nod. we got two van tires and a trailer tire for $80.

Male Nurses also have a shirt that Max is wearing that is an image where the background is a letter from The Zodiac Killer and over it is a big dude who looks like he is fucking planet earth, and below him is a image of two punks sucking a cops dick. HA!

while we were buying the tires, we decided we’d get the van looked at and find out what the high speed rattling was. it was $150 is what it was and took an hour and a half. we walked down the side of the road in rural ohio and tried to go to an irish bar that looked like someone’s house. predictably, it was closed so we went to a pawn shop where they lock the doors on you when you’re inside and unlock them when you try to leave. the vibe was “hey guys, welcome to the store. we will fucking kill you if you screw anything up and we have a room downstairs where we can incinerate your bodies.” they didnt seem too impressed by our presence but they asked about us and ran our band names by one of the dudes there who gave us a CD of his band. a CD of his band that definitely had some song like, “skinhead pride” on it. he told max that they’re going on tour with One Life Crew in November. tour is scary.

they also had a guitar shaped like a Shark for sale for $150. i bought one from some kid on Craigslist once – he had carved the HIM logo on the neck or something. fucking dork.

everyone split up for a bit and some of the guys went to some bar and hung out with a dude who’s name was seriously “Billy Bob” and other people sat in some grass and drank beer. Pat and I went with Ben from Much Worse to go to the hardware store to buy a new wheel for the guitar cab. we were walking back and talking about how we look like people who would get beaten up and fucking Paul Schaffer when this GIGANTIC FUCKING PITBULL barked at us. over half of it’s body was hanging out of the window. i immediately thought, “what kind of motherfucker lets their dog almost murder everyone while they’re driving,” then noticed the immortal ICP Hatchetman decal on the back. ohio juggalos fuck off.

got the van, paid the dudes, drove around listening to logan make techno music on his laptop.

someone told me to document this quote: “stop putting boogers on my bitch tits”. i think max wiped his snot on dan or something. pittsburgh next, as soon as i have time to write it

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

MUCH WORSE/BRAIN TUMORS East Coast Tour:

8/22 – Minneapolis, MN at Club Med w/ Organized Sports, Male Nurses, Subclinix, Cokskar
8/23 – Chicago, IL at Archer Nemesis w/ Male Nurses, Subclinix, Culo, Poor Choice
8/24 – Columbus, OH w/ Male Nurses, Subclinix
8/25 – Pittsburgh, PA w/ Drug Lust, Means To An End
8/26 – Brooklyn, NY at Stolen Sleeves Collective w/ Deathrats, State Violence
8/27 – Philadelphia, PA at Dad’s House w/ Leather
8/28 – Washington, DC w/ Dirty Wars, Booze Riot
8/29 – Richmond, VA w/ Unholy Thoughts
8/30 – Raleigh, NC at The Union w/ Shards, Lung Matter
8/31 – Asheville, NC w/ Pox
9/1 – Nashville, TN at Little Hamilton w/ Fucked Ethos
9/2 – Kansas City, MO w/Negative Degree, Ego Complex
9/3 – St. Louis, MO w/ Negative Degree, Ego Complex, Cardiac Arrest
9/4 – death, forever, in hell, w/ satan while demons mosh

we are putting out a six song 7″ in august with a split release through fashionable idiots and pass judgement records.

we have about six or seven more songs from the same session we’re still looking to put out.

come watch us look stupid and eat gas station food

tore

we have a new song up on our soundcloud. now you can talk about how you only like the demo.