Wednesday, Nov 09, 2005

The East Coast Gets Pummeled Tour, featuring Hot Hot Heat and those rascals The Redwalls, has exploded from the gates.

En route from Columbus to Syracuse we stop at a freeway-side Wendy's to pick up a faux-healthy snack and loose the gallons pent up inside us. The smell blindsides us coming through the front door and sharpens geometrically as we near the restroom. Inside the restroom nothing is visibly amiss; nevertheless, evidence of great passionate crime courses into our nostrils. Adam, our perspicacious new tour manager/sound expert, assures us that it's simply a case of: "A fat man came in here and took his first crap in fifteen years." This has the ring of truth. One further speculates that when fat man jettisoned that long-compressed clay, out scampered a brood of weasels, black as obsidian, wet blinking eyes and all -- smelling scampering dense black vicious primordial weasels, splashing around the toilet bowl, threading their way down fat man's legs, skittering hardshit claws against the tile like snares against the belly of a drum and then out into Wendy's and the World.