The band had a show a couple of weeks ago at this little tiny bar in Arlington called Monte Carlos. It was so small, the “-los” from the name was actually sitting on the FedEx Kinko’s next to it. And the clientele? Not what I’m used to. A little older, a little more…rustic. And by “rustic” I mean “redneckian”. They weren’t rednecks, just redneckian. They showed redneck without actually driving their homes to the bar. For example, the hot women weren’t so much hot as they were not totally hideous. So what if one chick had a dead tooth that overlapped the live one right in the front of her mouth? She was NICE, and that’s what counts.

We just knew we’d get in there with out loud asses and blow ’em out of the water, and…well, we did. The other two bands there were cover bands, and we were better than them. Listen, I know that sounds REALLY arrogant, but sometimes true shit can be arrogant. It’s true. But we’re always humble in public, so we gave ’em props when they got off stage. A buddy who rolled out there with us said to me “Dude, is it hard telling these bands that they had a good show, when in reality they sucked my balls?” And I said “Yes. Yes it is. But you say it anyway, ’cause you never wanna burn bridges. You never know when you might have to cross ’em again.”

So anyways, here’s some pics from that show. Enjoy!


Jimi Hendrix on the shirt, sweaty black man on the bass.


“Do you see those two hot Asian chicks? Right THERE! They’re 4 feet away! Well, they’re hot.”


Although supposedly playing one of their own songs, Damian wonders why he thinks he hears the theme to “Deliverance”.


He even makes this face when he’s NOT singing. But just look at the synchronicity between me and Gordie! Legs? Check. Guitars? Check. Looking at the frets at the same time? Check.


Trip is feelin’ it. Feeling. It. Trip. Is.


It’s hard doing the Pledge of Allegience with drunk people screaming “Freebird!” at you. Just sayin’.


Shirtless Jmart. The Fyrchk Special. Order up!


Gordie, working his magic on his flying V. 4 seconds later, a rabbit popped out of his guitar. And ordered a Shiner Bock.


Rowdy, mohawkin’ it. Hers is bigger than mine. Word.


OK. This one woman kept jumping on the stage to take pics or whatever, and each time she jumper her drunk ass up there, she knocked over my mic stand. I think I was trying to locate the missing mic at this point. Or I’m just rocking the fuck out. Either way.


“‘Cause I’m FREEEEEEEEEEE….Free FALLLLLLIIIIIIINNN’!”

Peace.

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