Thursday, August 19, 2004

MY BABY'S GOT A STICK STUCK OUT HER BEAK

For the record, the once and final time: vegan indie rock boys, DIE. Or don't stay at my house for 16 hours expecting to be entertained, fed, bathed, and surrounded by free whiskey and cigarettes. The choice is yours.

Also, I don't care what you think. About anything. Don't offhandedly tell me things like, "Well, you know that's how it is when you're on tour." Well, you know, this is how it is when you stay in somebody else's place. You clean up after yourself. You make yourself scarce. I don't even feel sorry that you're probably going to be late for your next show, or that you're going to have to eat gas station food on the way. SO THERE.