Not much new to report, folks. The Great American show still reigns high in our memories. LA was a bit of an anti-climax(we had sorta pre-ejaculated the night before, if you will). Though we did have quite a time at our twin friends, Robby and Mark's all night pagan birthday party, playing into the wee hours under the avocado trees of an Echo Park back yard. Hoped to have photos, but none yet. I think we forgot to bring the camera...I don't think we own a camera actually.

We are currently proposing to ourselves new and exciting directions to take on our spiraling ever upward ascen-dance to Rock Godhead and possibly looking for a few people we can drag with us, step on, and then ultimately forget as we then reach that oft sought after pinnacle. Join us, won't you?

Indeed, we are engaged in a thankless, harrowing task with not much to show for ourselves but the bottomless adoration of an myriad horde. Who will dance with us on the vulcano's edge of Super-Stardom, facing the blackness of certain mortal death only to then gaze into the glitter-gulch of the amaranthine Everlast?, the immortal greatness that shall be... Rube Waddell!!!

We look to you all in this our time of need, our quest for succor. Succor us, won't you? Succor this:

Some photos from our debut at the Great American Music Hall, by the mighty David J. Grossman:


Rockin' the Man Axe, Mannix


"Gonna buy me a graveyard..."


Testudinidae Erectus Solus

A full set of these photos is online here.