Greetings from the Omnigraphic Blogopticon. On view are vile sticky things dragged from the attic, snarky commentary on the world at large, and all-encompassing ennui. All that and a weird rubbery smell. A horrible time will be had by all.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Hey Now, Hey Now Now

Downtown buses late at night are full of winos, in case anyone wanted to know.

Went to see the Sisters of Mercy tonight. I got home at about 11:15. Why so fucking early? Their smoke machines set off the alarms and the fire marshal made everyone leave, that's why.

Andrew Eldritch now shaves his head, and to add insult to injury, was wearing cargo pants. I was expecting him to look a bit less like he'd just dragged his carcass out of bed, but I guess you can't have everything. He at least had the sunglasses. Quite possibly the man has no eyes since I've never seen him without the things.

Notice: cargo pants don't look good on anybody.

Can somebody explain to me why some jackasses pay good money to see bands they've never heard of? I can kind of understand going into a dance club at random but to buy an expensive ticket to see a band you might just hate? There was this guy who smelled like baloney who had nothing else better to do so he came downtown and paid $20 to see a band he'd never heard of. He kept asking me who they were and breathing baloney on me. I mean, it could have been the Lawrence Welk Orchestra, a Night Ranger tribute band, or Killing Joke and it wouldn't have made any difference to this pinhead. People confuse the hell out of me.

5 comments:

Scott said...

Sisters of Mercy? They still exist? Ah, there's nothing like geriatric new wave nostalgia acts.

I hope baloney breath man at least got your phone number.

Severina said...

I see someone has put an ass-kicking on his Xmas list.

No phone number for the baloney man, and that's "geriatric gothic act" to you, sir!

Scott said...

Someone should call something No Phone Number for the Baloney Man. Album. Novel. Movie. Something.

Crypt Stitch said...

Why, it's almost a haiku as it is (remove the 'the'). And that sux re the whole fire marshall hullabaloo. I used to adore Sisters of Mercy, and would love to see them live. Ahh nostalgia, totally edible (and fat free to boot)
Txx

Severina said...

It could be the title of the next novel in Oprah's Book Club! It'd be about bridges or a chick disease or maybe both.

And I ate ramen all week to justify buying a ticket for the Sisters and only got half a damn show.