Well, I’m not gonna lie. Pretty, pretty stoked for this show tomorrow. I’ve seen a couple of kids from England who are in town for the show, and yesterday a dude who flew in from Virginia was in my bar. It’s starting to feel like a real event, man. That’s righteous. We had our final practice last night. I think we’re ready. This is one of the first times we’ve ever premade a setlist, and well, we know all the songs on there pretty well, even the obscure ones and the shitty ones and the approximately 6 that we’ve played live less than three times ever. It’s clocking in at about an hour and a half if we bust our asses, which leaves me in a bit of a strange spot. I mean, this is a ten year show, it’s supposed to be retrospective and since it’s sold out in advance, the theory is that everyone there will want to see as much rock as we can bring, BUT I’m also a firm believer that a rock show that’s more than an hour is too much. I can’t sit through more than twenty minutes of live music, much less ninety. That’s fucking crazy. Yeah, I know that I’m a jaded old bastard and all that, but I’m having trouble reconciling playing a show that I wouldn’t want to have to sit through. Regardless, we’re the best band of all time, and even if my witty banter stretches the whole thing into a three hour extravaganza, you turds will still be drooling for more. I know this.
We’re doing hand screened limited edition posters (hand numbered, only 200 made), we’re filming the whole thing, we’re doing radical new shirts and hoodies (and we’re reprising the very first suicide king shirt we ever did and haven’t done since [the white on black]), we’re playing a gigantic set, we’re gonna have Sean Nader and his sodomite master, PT in the house. We’re playing with some radical bands, we’re all practiced up, and last night I shaved my face for the first time in six months. It’s so bizarre. I didn’t want to, but I was driving home from practice, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear view. It looked like my mustache was way thicker than the rest of my stubble, so when I got home, I attempted to trim it, but I got carried away and wound up looking like a hung over amish guy or something, so I had to go all the way. Ladies, prepare your clams. Wear rubber knickers, because I’m more gorgeous than ever. So’s Neil. So’s Chris. It’s funny, with all the hot man dong in my band, it’s really a surprise we never got famous. Don’tcha think? Maybe it’s all the shit talking and snot rockets. Huh. Whatever. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m pretty fucking excited for tomorrow. It FEELS like there’s something big on the horizon. There’s people in from out of town and all sorts of bells and whistles and shit going off. There’s potential for people to camp out tonight to try to get that special colored vinyl and the tix to the special afterparty that I’m Djing (first 150 people inside only!) This is the sort of party I was hoping for. Now, if we can keep neil from getting too wasted to play, we’ll be set.
Okay dickheads and hoes, see you at the metro. I’m going to work.