Enough about the toilet and back to the tale...(part 2)

(names and places may be omitted to protect the innocent or incompetent)





We left Kutztown very late and things were falling apart all ready...Merry Christmas. The Jazz June was not on the bill in New York (we were supposedly booked to play a show @ abc no rio). I don't want to point and fingers but...I am. ___ ________, she was supposed to have everything planned out. Strike one.



Somehow there was a glimmer of hope as a show was found in Baltimore, at the Laff & Spit. We were on our way to another country; it wasn't exactly the easiest place to find, but after flying up and down the streets of a foreign land we found it. I felt different as we crossed the border and I've noticed that my body undergoes convolutions as we moved through the wall. What the hell am I talking about? Anyway let me say something about the toilet at the Laff & Spit, it was a shithole. The girl that lived there was fed up with the guys pissing on the seat up. Sure, no problem. I discovered that this was a problem when I had to use the toilet. Everytime I put the seat up it would fall down; so in order to get the job done I propped the seat up with my foot. I have never had so much trouble trying to take a leak. Later when I told Andrew (Low) he replied simply that he pissed in the sink...smooth.

Enough about the toilet and back to the tale...
The Jazz June was not the only band on this so called tour, we had the company of Mid Carson July. Before this time I never really knew them, but I am glad to say that Eric, Bryon, Mike and last but not least Charles are now close friends. Due to the fact that the Jazz June and Mid Carson July jumped the bill they had to play last; in addition to the fact they had to split a set.

With everything tuned up and turned on, Superstation started things off, it is funny I have never had to describe an irritating buzz, so I will just leave it at that. The melodrama of the Idea Men then flooded my senses as they wailed like an injured dog and flopped on the ground like a sizzling piece of bacon. Weak, pretty fucking weak, dude. A really swell band called Behind Closed Doors followed with their own hard hitting style, and style it was...really decent. I was truly disappointed as I watched so many people leave, no friggin' respect. I still bounced around and jiggled my money maker as my head was filled with the music of the Jazz June and Mid Carson July. As we left the quiant little dive, I paused for a sigh of relief; it was chock full of weirdos and I'm saying weeeiiirrrdos. One Maryland Mojo was trying to sell me items ranging from pot, to Levis jeans to 12 sided dice. "What size are you? What size are you?" he kept on asking. My first mistake was to answer. I repeated again and again that I didn't need pants, while Andrew chimed in that he hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons since he was a kid. That didn't really help the situation and he continued to badger us.

We finally made it back to ___ _________'s pad in _______ ____, but before we parked out faces in our pillows we got a brief taste of "South Park" (remember this is 1996). The stories revolve around these four foul-mouthed cartoon kids and from what we saw Jesus is a bad mutha' fucker. I almost pissed myself because it was so funny. I crashed very late and got to thinking before I knocked out; the van rides are really uncomfortable. No, extremely uncomfortable...I am all scrunched up like a sardine, people on top of me. "It's a shite situation" sorry "state of affairs" so I will just have to deal.

Let the Games begin, dudes... (part 1)

I am always walking around Kutztown, so to see me galavanting around was not an uncommon sight. In any case I was walking home on thursday night; slowly I droged (you have to ask Adam what this means) up the infamous hill towards the university. When all of the sudden I heard a group screaming what I thought was my name. As I gazed to my left, I pretended not to look but all to soon I was pulled into a metal beast. By the time I realized what happened I discovered I was kidnapped by members of the Jazz June.

It was by sheer coincidence that my tour friends saw me, and snatched me off the dimly lit streets of Kutztown. As we careened up the hill, and bobbed from destination to destination, we finally came to a stop. I released myself from the hold of the blue shag rug walls, that coated the interior of the van. I had to take a look...no, I had to absorb the make up and overall feel of our vehicle.

One could see that it had spent some time under the scorching rays of the sun, and fighting the worst weather that mother nature could whip up. The off grey...I don't know off blue color seemed to be melted together. The posterior of the van was wallpapered with a multitude of stickers. As I rolled around to the front of our massive mode of transportation, and opened my eyes, I discovered the motivation of or tour. It was spelled out simply on the hood...SLAYER. Let the games begin, dudes.

We ran around town until our eyes got heavy,and finally retired as the night crept away. As I lay beneath my covers in my bed, I felt a feeling of excitement coursing through my body; like when I was a little boy and tomorrow was Christmas day. This feeling was more intense because tomorrow the Jazz June tour would begin.