Man or Astro-Man?
Journey to the Heartland
Fall 1996
10/04/96 - 10/18/96


October 4
Journey to the MindÕs Eye, and uh...Arkansas?

It never fails that no matter how much excess time is allotted for the Astro-Brigade to arrive at the first show, it somehow dissipates and we make our appearance either exactly on time or at varying degrees of tardiness. A destination-oriented mission of the Òtime to spareÓ ilk is thus an astounding impossibility, whereas one of a merely ÒpunctualÓ nature is viewed with that Òlunar eclipseÓ-type of curiosity...it doesnÕt happen that often and even if it does, whatÕs there to really get excited about anyway? That single moon stuff has always bored us visiting space alien types.
Startling parallels to a ÒTwilight ZoneÓ episode became obvious right as a large illuminated ÒE-MC2Ó floated by the Chevy 20. And most know by now that the Chevy 20 really is the main character in any Astro-Narrative. Anyway, it seems that on the previous night before departure, Star Crunch had missed the final show segment of a specific episode of Mr. SerlingÕs little anthology series. All signs of our travel to Arkansas Space Territory lended us to believe that we, ourselves, were the missing climax of that particular episode. Check these strange coincidences yourself for any other possible explanation:

Alright, IÕm sinking into something I wouldnÕt want to smell. I know, I know. Okay, so the blow to our rear axle shields was a minor $217 cashton torpedo. We could survive to fight another day, maybe even that very night...


J.R.Õs Lightbulb
Fayetteville, AK

J.R.Õs Lightbulb had a kind enough staff but the similarities to the Sports Bar in Auburn, AL created a block that the most expert celebrity hypnotist couldnÕt even help us overcome. We had a rushed, lackluster soundcheck due to the fact that everyone was moving at governor-removed speeds in order to catch the season premiere of ÒThe X-Files.Ó Everyone seemed to enjoy the show, but I thought...well, you know the score...this is where I find corny, descriptive ways to use that ÒsuckÓ word...no need for elaboration.


October 5
City: Oklahoma City, OK
Venue: Bricktown Live

After supporting ultra-corporate America by shopping at Sam WaltonÕs Gloryland of Arkansas, the Wal-Mart super center, we pushed present time-space into fast-forward for our musical, not of but in Oklahoma.
To the stimulation of our surprise indicator, we drove up to the visual astonishment of Subsonics posters. ÒThatÕs weird. It says ÔThe Subsonics with Man or Astro-Man?Õ Hey, thereÕs the SubsonicsÕ van!Ó Maybe we were actually going to play with the dark zombies of detriment and long-time tour conspirators from the Atlanta home base after all. We Astro-Men were never very good at that Clueª game.
Contrary, as RockinÕ Clay Reed often states through a tortured scream, everything was indeed falling apart. Okay, everything actually fell into place. The Subsonics were in tip top form and the black leather was as tight-fitting as a ÒHee HawÓ girlÕs girdle. Bass player numero infinito, Christy, cross the sonic checkered flag of a JBL Home Recording Speaker Pre-Market Fidelity Test.
Our show was a frantic, fun-filled frenzy for a five mile grid. After spilling water all over the stage, I was forced to play my role as an in-between free throws NBA towel boy, which I must admit is much better than being a tennis ball snagger. We brought two painfully bored looking girls on stage so Coco could Òsolo outÓ in front of them, achieving full embarrassment overload. The Tesla Coil was a beautiful swirl of purple light. I was moved Ð I smelled the number 5. It smelled like the toasted almonds my grandfather used to beat me with.


October 6
City: Columbia, MO
Venue: University of Missouri or Some Parking Lot

We docked into Columbia to obtain and evaluate research of the fabled surf vocal outfit known to those Òin the knowÓ sector as The Untamed Youth. What we instead received was lesson number 17,892,450.02 in Earth Mall Conduct Code. I wonder if Mace, King of Men had ever been inside that Payless Shoes?
The stage was set up in an empty lot right on the bathtub, water overflow brink of downtown. We arrived to the rinky sight and dinky sounds of a Latin ensemble that would have had a difficult time getting booked at a Taco Bellª. So, this was the renowned Macerana. Who set this up anyway? Fortunately, after Middle Age Menudo finished playing along to the samba beat of a casiotone 410, the show reset itself and besides forgetting that stage lights are better than street lights, everything was as hunky dory as we could every want.
The band prior to us, Spent, was extremely pleasant. Nice, soft, unadulterated indie-rock. On venturing some three blocks away from the show vicinity to mail a post card, I was still able to heard those fin, fine sounds of the Merge Label. Honestly, Spent sounded amazing ricocheting off the brick buildings of Columbus. The diluted, swirling effect of recepting the strayed sounds several hundred yards away was literally a swirling maelstrom that Kevin Shields would probably sell all of his guitars to obtain. Oh wait, he already did that to record the ÒLovelessÓ LP.
As for the dork squad, you know its a successful endeavor when Coco is able to make friends with the onlooking cops. During ÒEric Estrotica,Ó Coco ran up to one of ColumbiaÕs finest and said, ÒSo, you get paid to do this?Ó To which this rather astute lawman volleyed back, ÒSo...uh, do you get paid to do this?Ó while gesturing toward our haywired hootenanny. ÒYeah, I guess we both have got it pretty good, huh?Ó


October 7
City: Omaha, NE
Venue: Sokol Hall

ÒWhy donÕt you just polka!Ó Yes, again we were back at Sokol Hall, the former polka pit. The rented sound system was thrown together like a makeshift toothpick sculpture and the sound guy was most clearly wearing the ÒDilbertÓ name tag. In fact, one of the stage hand gentlemen did a lot more of the cable patching and speaker placement than the babbling Mr. Kilohertz. Wow, actually Dilbert Kilohertz is an enviably cool name.
Sometime before our illustrious stage-taking, we did an interview for a public access video show which we centered around rotary strobe light and a fabricated sponsorship by Mountain Dew. I was thoroughly impressed by opening assistant Opium Taylor, who were basically your high energy freak punk type of thing. The bass leads and rhythmic excursions were very reminiscent of No Means No.
Our show was as fun as any better displays of kinetic space retardedness, but the one main downer was that we had to throw out the backstage sandwich bread instead of Little Debbies. No one got us our snackcakes! I always knew weÕd end up playing for the pigeons.


October 8
City: Iowa City, IA
Venue: Gunnerz

Once again we tear the Tie-Dye down to vibrate the inner vicinity of one of those towns named after the state that itÕs located within. Coco, Star Crunch and Branock got recognized at a Blimpie sandwich shop and shmoozed their taste buds into free sandwiches. Funk that. Earlier in the night I whipped out $3.67 for a half-size veggie and chips while Monkey-Turd and the Starless Wonder suck down price-busted Italian pizza subs. So yes, I suppose there is such a thing as a free lunch after all.
Opening specimens, The Bent Scepters, were a tightly woven miscellany of the Fleshtoned Mono Men Bastard Monster child. We, the Astro-Four, displayed an exemplary case test of our stranded alien redneck rock, and the Little Debbie casualty count was abnormally high (it seems folks in Iowa City have received a decent bit of practice in the art of heckling). With that fiasco well-done and tucked under our standard issue space belts, we broke camp and headed to Chicago through the fog, using only the pleasant odor of the Branock DeviceÕs motherÕs fresh, English muffins to guide us on our way.

October 9
Day Off in Chicago, Professional Sector

It was a very convenient coincidence that Iowa City-Milwaukee fixed connecting points intersected at the axis of man or Astro-Man?Õs industry output. Both the Billions Corporation and the Touch and Go Records facility are located here, south of Lake Michigan. We decided to check our status on the Record Business Scale, and yes, we found ourselves still to be right at the big doughnut hole point of industry importance.
Money orders, hardware stores, and gas stations are as much a home to the Astro-Men as any address you might see us listed under. So, after such accustomed duties of mailing letters and buying bolts, wing nuts, self-torquing, left-handed hex caps, and all sorts of things we donÕt fully know how to use, we pulled out the white, velvet gloves for rigorous inspection of these renown organizations.
The Billions Corporation passed with colors of the flying variety. Jackie, Ally, JulieAnne, Tom and The Big Guy all made it through the Man or Astro-Man? obstacle course in record time. Well, they would have if Boche hadnÕt got his foot caught in the flaming rings...
As for Touch and Go, those corporate bastards once again treated us nice, laughed at our bad, juvenile humor, let us look through their filing cabinets, took us out to eat, and even treated us to a game of bowling. But the weird thing was that during the bowling match, I told a Touch and Go intern how much we had enjoyed everything and that we would send them a Man or Astro-Man? Care Package to show our appreciation, when the intern threw me a dazed and quizzical look and replied, ÒMan or Astro-Man? Fucking hell, we thought you guys were Girls Against Boys.Ó


October 10
City: Milwaukee, WI
Venue: Shank Hall

The load in, soundcheck, and entire set up was made memorable by some mysterious club employee who was constantly vacuuming. In fact, later in the night when Dexter asked this strange gentleman if he could stickerfy his machine, the fellow soon dubbed as the ÒWitch Hazel of the Rock WorldÓ retorted, ÒHey man, this is a brand new vacuum cleaner!Ó
After a commercial-free lesson in Electro-Improvement hosted by Coco, we managed to repair our broken JacobÕs Ladder, the kick drum legs and various other crucial cogs in the Man or Astro-Man? Gear Grinder. During our rewriting of the Time/Life book series on ÒHow to Be in the WorldÕs Most Inane Band,Ó Star Crunch rediscovered our theory of bad karmaÐfor reasons unmentionable. Upon finishing Professor CocoÕs shop class final exam, Dexter X and myself took over the airwaves at WMSE in order to unleash our own private manifesto of multi-star system profiteering.
Our poor, sour stomach-stricken Branock Device still desperately needed to suck at the teat of a 16 oz. canister of Milk of Magnesia, and on this, his birthday of all days. Luckily for him, his fine friends at the Man or Astro-Man? Birthday-o-Gram Service provide him, during a surprise on-stage visitation, with the ever-familiar, mondo bottle of Pepto-Bismol complete with a question mark candle plugged into the top.
In celebration of the event, and our glorious presentation, the Astro-Welcome Wagon Team, along with several audience members, partook in the downing of the pink liquid. Finally, Star Crunch and I closed the show and the entire Branock Device Birthday Barnstorm by knocking out the stage lights with Little Debbie snack cakes. Ooooh, now isnÕt that the bratty irreverence that the punk kids just eat up? OK, Mr. Darby Crash, weÕre aÕcominÕ to join you!


October 11
City: Madison, WI
Venue: East End

The previous nightÕs planetary axis revolution was extremely disquieting in the most surreal and horrific nature possible. We had stayed, once again, with Bill of the very fine Rushmore Records where we had once done a free, all ages in-store with that tempestuous trio known as the Galaxy Trio. Well, it just comes into our little story that Bill has a spacious place to host ÒDorks Like Us,Ó the only snag in the meat grinder is that Bill lives literally next door to a slaughterhouse. So close, they actually share a wall. Well, during the middle of the night, I was waken by acute, piercing screams reverberating their way through my dreams into dark, queasy consciousness. Not to appear like the PETA booth guy, but this seemed so unnecessary and vile, not to mention the fact that if people didnÕt eat pork then I could have probably gotten a proper nightÕs rejuvenation.
The next morning BillÕs roommate Mike had prepared us a wondrous breakfast feast fit for an Agromegliac, but the sizzlinÕ skillet of sausage made me nearly made me hit a defueling sequence similar to the Exxon Valdez incident. Never again will I sing the RudyÕs Sausage Farm theme song. As some might know, the only meat I consume is that of a ripe, well-exercised, corn-fed, 18-24-year-old humanoid. Now thatÕs good eatinÕ!
After Rob Sieracki, Touch and Go Òpress hereÓ, honcho supreme took us to KoppÕs Diner where everything (except the food) was made out of stainless steel, we obtained new weapons of discordant detriment at Rockhaus Music. Star Crunch knifed another notch in his Mosrite guitar collection this time carving in a late 60s non-ventures, altered to appear ventures, metallic blue beauty, and Dexter X nailed hypersonic transport with the purchase of a Hollow Body Harmony Rocket. so equipped with powerful new weapons we headed for Madison, oblivious to the concept of friendly fire.
Another twisted bill of the Australian Improv-Art Rock of the Dirty Three and the NERD punk brown-out of you know who. Yes indeed. Showdown at the East End. We were met at the club by the lovely ladies of Touch and Go, and Christa, Jen, Naomi and Meg provided us with elegant escorts to the Blue Plate Diner where the Residents has supposedly once eaten.
The Dirty Three were fired up by an amphetamine overload and an insanely large crowd. They were immense, stretching the limits of musical dynamics. Warren even took a short stroll through the ceiling rafters during the set. And yes, of course, we did what we do best Ð we made a fucking mess of the stage and the club. After all was said and destroyed, the East End employees were left with the unnatural disaster of what looked to be a sound stage from ÒTwister.Ó Sorry about the chocolate.


October 12
City: Green Bay, WI
Venue: Concert Cafe

Conscious and on the road, shortly after our slumber at the home of a plasma physicist (no lie), no one could actually bring themselves to purchase the cheese hat, but nonetheless Man or Astro-Man? in Wisconsin, Land of Cheese, now thatÕs about as fitting as that square block of synthetic cheese food that you get in the left-most compartment of a Lunchable pack.
Up to this point of the never-ending Revenge of the Nerds saga, we had never stepped our space boots outside the Astro-Cruiser onto the land/terrain of Green Bay. Even though both Vince Lombardi and Reverend N¿rb were both out of town (theyÕre the only tow celebrities we know of from Green Bay, and itÕs likely they are one in the same), we still made the excitometer bell ding during our fun time with a massive count of hyperactive astro victims. Boche, our booking guy (the one who decides how far the vessel must travel from show to show) thought that this all ages, small town, midwest tour would bust our touring air bag in more ways than one, but it actually turned out to be extremely fun and yes, a successful conquest of numerous human minds. Yeah, I suppose all the cheese did help out, at least in doses.
Later that night we made a nocturnal (I hate using that word, because I canÕt say it without Coco blurting out Òemission!Ó) pit stop to do a sweepstakes-winner basket grab at The Exclusive Company, the finest records shop that weÕve ever raided at 3 a.m. Tom was either too generous or too tired to be cognizant of the discounts he was giving us. And if you have ever been to a Bargain Town USA in Alabama, you know just what IÕm talking about.


October 13
City: West Lafayette, IN
Venue: Boiler Room

West Lafayette, Indiana or Auburn, Alabama? Even if you make it through the hazing, you still get those wonderful branding marks. Out of the way, college towns like these give me stomach churns worse than space adaptation syndrome ever could. You know the perameters - sports bars full of lunkheads who have never personally engaged in any physical exercise, huge college book stores that have a wider selection of mascot-oriented t-shirts (this time the Purdue Boilermakers a.k.a. some guy who beats on a big, tin pot) than actual printed words, and gaggles of girls power walking their way by you with enough make up on to make Mary Kaye suffer a regional shortage of eye shadow. Nonetheless, we braved the greek sea to bring a sample of our space rock (pun intended) to the few who cared.
The load-in soon became the mother of all load-ins, and the Tesla Coil became an invalid to the stairs Ð no sparky sparks tonight. By showtime a respectable amount of breathing things came to pay homage to the only aliens who have the courage to admit that they crash-landed in Alabama. The opening unit for the evening, Drag Strip, was a very proficient surf combo, but guess what? Them darn musical instruments whipped our asstros once again in another electro-nightmare. We should have paid attention to those Louis the Lightning Bug adverts. Oh well, we still got a buzz from the overflow charges and regardless, everyone knows East Lafayette is where the real rock takes place.


October 14
City: Bloomington, IN
Venue: Second Story

Celebration of Columbus Day proceedings. Arrive with superfluous head room. Partake in capitalist society: Shell - Blimpie - Kroger - ArbyÕs - BP - Travelodge. The dayÕs functions read like a Gas, Food, Lodging exit sign. Yet, somewhere in our economy stimulation we arrived with four new recruits for the cathode ray army, including a 13Ó swiveling spotlight that fit nicely atop CocoÕs mondo-stack.
Another bleak journey into the Pacemaker of Darkness. Question: How many people does it take to screw in a light bulb at the Second Story? Answer: It doesnÕt matter, because some dork at the bar would just fucking turn them off anyway. One guy (who was practically a virtuoso at getting a farmerÕs tan) truly exemplified this show.
During set up modulation instruct command, Star Crunch temporarily lost mid-level mental processes and had a slight loss on the direction of flow for hooking up his guitar pedals. Perceiving this sight, Mr. ÒRed NakedÓ remarked to a buddy, ÒMan, that guy is a genius.Ó The sad thing was that he wasnÕt being sarcastic. He thought Star Boy was in a deep, contemplative state.
Backstage, before stage assault, S. Crunch warned us that that guy would be the Human to Watch during the show. He was right. The guy puked all over the stage. The incident made for a three-song set editing agent, and ruined our appetite for some 20 hours. Astro-Barf Bags could be a decent promo item, but we hope the process of regurgitation could, in the future, take place in the personal space of everyoneÕs private dwelling chamber.


October 15
City: Dayton, OH
Venue: Aardvarks

Denial of a sparkling-clean, silver-faced Fender Twin Reverb to the Crunch Man. The previous night he had tested out (through the power of a retainer fee) the classic bar rock sound projector, and although it survived the trial by vomit, it just didnÕt suffice for the critical requirement of Mosrite dispersion. So after reverse-purchase procedure of the defective amplification device, the majority of the Legion of Astro plotted coordinates for Earth Station Blimpie, while yours truly set off to conduct official band business and to keep AT&T ahead of MCI and Sprint in the great long-distance dialing phone war.
My luck is indeed not mere disguised chance. As matter is comprised of atoms, so is the concept of Birdstuff Good Luck rigidly structured in an (although seemingly unpredictable) explainable core structure. That is, a swirling helix of bad luck only. Or possibly what IÕm getting at could be far easier explained through anti-matter, in that you just never perceive the flipside of a good event sequence, but alas, on to the greater good of the band. So, where the fuck am I directing you in this cloudy microscope lens of prose? Well, as you probably have not guessed by now, those space goons got to eat Blimpie with Andy Richter of ÒThe Late Show with Conan OÕBrianÓ while I proceeded to sprain my dialing finger using 1-800-CALL-ATT. And yes, I say this while in the grips of the golden lariat. On numerous occasions I had long tried to hook us up to be able to set up across stage from Max Weinburg, but to no avail. Well that proves the exponents involved, there I had been on propaganda slave labor duties while everyone else was crunching down crispy sourdough bread with the sidecar man of late night TV himself. Unbeknownst to the great banks of the river Data, Andy had ÒExperiment ZeroÓ and had also attended the strange and malodorous show the night before in Bloomington. He walked up to the mess-making astro-sandwich consumers and introduced himself to the crew, letting them know that he definitely wanted to get us on the show. And we all know what a grandmother-pleaser a Late Night appearance would be... Dexter X later related, ÒIt was cool! He was a really genuine guy - even dorkier than he is on TV. He had a lime green izod on, and he looked like a really big pear.Ó
So forget the art of becoming a celebrity for a moment and remember Satan, OH. Bizarre people. The club promoter was disappointed that we were actually on time. We would later check the pulses of numerous audience members. We played the role of abusive aliens by pelting our naive, unknowing audience with snack cakes. Outside, Coco and I were hanging around doing nothing in particular, when a Trans Am pulled up to us and some failed Judas Priest auditionees said, ÒFuck, are you guys playing with...when is Stride...are you guys with Stridex...Man they rip...virgin fuckinÕ asshole.Ó Uh, what? I didnÕt know whether they were talking about music or pimple prevention. Weird stuff - so whereÕs that Hanger 18 anyway? We want our shit back!


October 16
City: Lexington, KY
Venue: Area 51

Testosterone smells as foul as the Branock DeviceÕs 100% cotton socks. Indeed the Area 51 video game kept us busy in-between entertaining all the guys that had wanted to be on the football team but instead took on water boy duties. When did punk rock start to equate with professional wrestling? Luckily, simian intelligence was sedated by Coco manipulating the T.Coil to strike pitchers of beer.
200 proof/200,000 volts. Please donÕt let your friends operate high voltage dispersion devices while intoxicated. A message brought to you by M.A.M.E.D. (MotherÕs Against Misguided Electrical Devices).


October 17
City: Knoxville, TN
Venue: Mercury Theater

One intrinsic note aside from the normal re-accountment (?) of daily astro-supervising:
Shower head pressure is by no stretch of the confined human imagination on any kind of an Universal Standard. Some modest, efficiency apartment dwelling punk rock types bask in the glory of a season-round rainforest, while well-off, trust fund kids are cleaning themselves in and under an ignorant, oblivious, light drizzle. A beautiful concept really, but not as much so when you are surrounded by as much foreign, multifarious ceramic tile as we are on a regular basis.
Knoxville is a conventionally and consistently bizarre event-site for some of the more erratic Man or Astro-Man? show undertakings. Without passing out a hand-out, IÕll allow you to know that this strange seventeenth of October was as disheveled as any of our past attempts for normalcy in Knoxville. Thinking that the three stage entertainment of Cat Power, Guvnor and the Johnny Astro Space Expulsion would be too much of an overabundant musical crop for the small, 8Õ x 20Õ Mercury Theater stage field to bear, I set my drums up on the side stage shelves that had, until then, been nothing more than a home to a few, stray and bent mic stands. Possibly a 150 pound alien being having the zero gravity equivalent of an epileptic seizure would be more than this Òdeeply conceivedÓ slab of wood could tolerate.
Luckily for the insurance agency that covers the Mercury Theater, the platform never collapsed, causing me to drop twenty feet with a slew of Ludwig products onto the cranial regions of unsuspecting patrons. It is nonetheless unfortunate that no large, dense objects fell on the portion of the male audience who for some reason got their dates crossed for the Man or Astro-Man? show and the Danzig Mosh Pit Boot Camp. In overall analysis of the situation, the hostility transcended the classification of gender.
On the way to the pre-show restructuring and resuiting site, Coco received a signal that his electronic wizard bowels were in dire need of making a monkey pellet deposit. Attempting to break in line to the girlÕs bathroom after kindly explaining the predicament of the nearing stage-entry time, he was hit by the brick wall stigma of the male-induced peed-on toilet seat phenomenon. ÒNo fucking way, your not going to go into our bathroom and piss all over the place and youÕre most certainly not going to take a crap in there!Ó the mob replied. Yet the ever-persuasive Coco made it through the Anti-Uni-Sex blockade and shed his peanuts nonetheless. No, I didnÕt just use that description...that canÕt be part of my narrative process...
After the show, Ben (our ÒfutureÓ lawyer) told us that six people told him that Star Crunch looked like the crooning Frank Sinatra rooster caricature from the old Looney Tunes cartoons (definitely not Foghorn Leghorn), and that the Tesla Coil was:
A.) An Atomic Lifter
B.) A Static Disperser, and
C.) A Ball Park Style Dick Sucker.
We turned the last page of the night by watching a guy feed doughnuts to skunks. Well, I suppose normality through a continuous string of bizarre events is still a form of normalcy.


October 18
City: Chattanooga, TN
Venue: The Sand Bar

This show, being a mere two hour fossil fuel burning trek from the heart of the greater Atlanta vicinity became more like a family reunion than your typical show up at the hole in the crack in the wall club as the unwanted, disillusioned, laundry mat seeking rock band experience.
We opened the automatic Genie garage door opener to some much needed slumber at the eldest of the three Coco earth sibling clones. It was actually lucky in a certain sense that we could open anything. The night before we all unshuttered our desperately focused eyes on the back of the Branock DeviceÕs head just trying to stay on the road ahead through zero visibility conditioning. The Space Case was trying to cross the nightÕs finish line through a torrential thunder storm minus the modern manÕs luxury of windshield wipers (we had blown that particular fuse and well...procrastination). Needless to say, we quickly bonked the brainless blunderer and traded out with the fuse. So, back to familial duties, which were made possible by the ÒYouÕre still alive even after traveling down a storm-soaked interstate without working wipersÓ corporation. It was more than a pleasant surprise-o-gram to see Mrs. Stuff upon arrival at the club.
Star Crunch also racked up on the bonus round extravaganza when his earth-born brother presented him, and talking as in a gift-type even, with a full-sized movie poster of that illustrious ÒHuman VaporÓ film. Born of woman, but recreated by outer space...It loves like a man, but is it...
People crawled out from the woodwork to see the Astro-Mobile Theme Park, and thereÕs actually a lot of wood in Chattanooga. For some reason I kept wanted to call this place Ògoldiggers.Ó Dexter X and myself got escorted to do a local radio interview and we vehemently propagated the Astro-Gospel to the unsaved.
ÒWhoÕs ready for an extreme shock?Ó Coco bellowed above the white noise of ÒPrinciples Unknown.Ó Back at Goldiggers we hand-fed doses of the Tesla CoilÕs electric dispersion to any and all audience members with cavity fillings. Free root canals for everyone! At least until some unwitting audience members hurled a jack-o-lantern at the coil, successfully bending its lightning-producing ÒcoilÓ into a sad reinvention of itself. However, Coco managed to fix the damage during load-out in time for a special, late night hangerÕs on only ozone-producing show.
The night of saliva soaked entropy ended and everyone soon found themselves directed toward various locales across the southeast, still without official dental certificates.

Birdstuff out, but never over.

Next Update: Uh, weÕre going to Florida.