That was fucking horrible.
I hope after that show, those kids got into a 1986 Ford Bronco with a sketchy stranger, and they all got skull fucked.
And I am not even kidding.
And I hate the whole "Oh, we don't need a bassist" attitude. Good Christ, I feel sometimes that I'm the only one who even knows what a bass guitar is, but only because I happen to play one.
I like when the guitarist starts having technical difficulties and has to tinker with his amp. I believe that's what we call Karma, stupid little shit.
"Somebody told me when the bomb hits, everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated, but if you lay face down on the ground for some time, avoiding the residual ripples of heat, you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted like you're always underwater refracted. But if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do if the air that was once you is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules of the enemy's former body. Big-kid-tested, motherf--ker approved."
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