Tumblr is some dumb shit, as is summer. Everyone should listen to Imprint today, by the late, great, great Vision of Disorder. Be sure to get a nose bleed. Eat hell.
Buy our record, gets along.
Guaranteed easier to like than hot weather that is comparable to living in steaming hot bath water, or in a asshole. If either one of those things were possible. At the very least, listen to some of it here.
To hell with Sundays
We are back home. A very special no thanks goes out to rainy weather, borrowing money, late nights and blank faces. A very special thank you very much you wonderful thing, goes out to; El Cantador, The Alabama Music Box, The Nick (and the sound guy), Wayne Campbell, Garth Algar, Bill Range, Carrie Copeland, Beth Priddy, Victoria Lane, Richard Slade and Tom Tom.
The great old run on maze.
Earlier this morning, probably around 3:35 a.m, before the current 4:27 a.m Ring experience; a man named Dick went into some still undecidedly weird conversation with a woman he just met about how her cheerful appearance made him want to get a milkshake with her. Around 4:13 a.m a conversation ensued and the question was asked, creepy? Some say that they believe a comment such as that would be 45%...
Because he said so...
Richard-Dick-Slade, our managerish tag-along started his own blog (because he has to have everything that everyone else has) so he could update the world on his dismal outlook of life. He will not get off of our fucking backs about it, read it here.
Hello, we are it's elephant's, from Mobile,...
Here is the very short, yet very tragic story of it’s elephant’s founding member, Buster Scuggens. The only thing Buster ever wanted was to be hugged. It never happened so Mr. Scuggens took his one man show on the road. Armed with only his god given sir name, a suitcase of knives and a giant cock he kept in a sock, he arrived in Waynesville void of his unloved shame. Those knives...
That water is good as hell.
Some quick words from one half of it’s elephant’s favorite paranoid android, Marvin; Now the world has gone to bed, Darkness won’t engulf my head, I can’t see by infrared, How I hate the night, Now I lay me down to sleep, Try to count electric sheep, Sweet dream wishes you can keep, How I hate the night.
Pensacola Flordia Or Dickhead Beach.
There we were, five hours after leaving Atlanta, arriving in Pensacola Flordia to play a show at Sluggo’s when we were informed that the show was canceled. Luckily we were at a Tom Thumb, so we robbed the motherfucker and hit the beach. We had to get away quickly and quietly so we surfed up the Gulf of Mexico until we arrived at Mobile, Alabama forty-five minutes away. We decided that was...