small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>punk rock girl</strong>

Friday, March 12

punk rock girl

All that heinous shit over in Spain hit close to home for me, my pal Corey and Sara are doing the walkabout thing thru Europe and they were just in Spain the other day. I was at the Boardroom the other night at the Hurricane and Mr. Wilson came for a quick one and told me that he’d been in touch with Cory during their trip and they were having a fantastic time. And whilst there Corey called in for a “air shot”. That’s an ages old tradition that we do at the Boardroom whenever one of us are out of town or whatever. We pick up a phone from wherever we’re at and call in for a shot, and as soon as the bar gets em set up, away we go. I was even able to call one in the last time I was at the FEMA Mountain.
I’m also sorry to hear that Dave Blood from the Dead Milkmen died the other day. That’s why when we see a friend in the down, we need to sometimes do whatever it takes to find out what’s what. Cause hell you never know what might be weighing em down. I know, easier said then done huh? Punk Rock Girl used to rock my MTV back in the day. I wonder where she is now? But suicide is never the answer, back in day it was common amongst people I knew to do suicide watches every so often. And one night during a deep depression slash broken heart slash binge slash silly young angst; I took everything in my bathroom. But I got lucky; all it did was make me sleepy. But then again if I got to that point where my quality of life was in great compromise and I felt myself to be a burden, I think I would welcome suicide with open arms. I’ve always feared the old in the gutter all alone thing. I’ve always told myself that if I ever chose that way out I’d do it in such a way that would make the front page of the New York Times. You know, I’d get dressed to the nines and go out for a good meal, then hit the bars for a last round of cocktails. Then I’d start knocking off assholes. If I knew you to be a for real bad guy, you were mine. You’d be cancer and I’d be the cure? Anyway I’d save the last one for myself. Old school style all the way. Boom! Baby!


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