"Are there any other brownshirts for this morning's muster?" I asked, referring to other officers, commonly known as "khakis". For the first time, perhaps ever, I was early.
I'd gotten to sleep at 4 a.m., because last night we went to Baltimore to see
Mother
Fucking
BORIS
MANE.
anarchivist lived up to his promise to "shake up the Mid-Atlantic" by getting naked and belly-bumping/humping me through the SEVERELY rocking parts of the show. Along with everyone who could not or would not bend, like a reed.
Apparently no one in Bawlmer has seen "Footloose".
Typical responses from Baltimore onlookers/doom scholars/crusty punks/trick-or-treaters-trying-out-their-"Lollapalooza 1991"-Halloween-outfits-early on seeing people dancing(humping, vogueing, air-drumming, cretin-hopping) to earth-shattering pant-rattling psychedelic doom metal:
"Are you okay?" (to MZA)
"Are you gonna puke?" (to Mark)
"DJ Assault, first weekend of December! Let's do it." (to me)
FANGS ANAL REUBEN
(also loves the Japanese bitches)