I love playing my guitar loudly. It's powerful.
Last Saturday, my band, Riveter, played a pig-roast barbecue at Peach Street Distillers.
If you haven't been out to the distillery and enjoy vodka, gin, bourbon and the like, make haste. I love vodka and used to drink Skyy, now I drink Peach Street's Goat Vodka and it's lovely.
My only warning about drinking at the distillery is that they pour stiff drinks. One Bloody Mary or Dirty Hippie has the equivalent of at least two or even three shots of vodka. And their drinks are so tasty, you could find yourself drunk there on a Sunday afternoon without even meaning to. Not that that's a bad thing.
We played to a great, big ole crowd Saturday and we kicked all kinds of pig-roast ass.

We love to tease each other. Like if I saw this picture:

Our practices are most always a giggle fest and no one can beat a joke into the ground like we can. Our favorites are ones with dirty words. Recently we all saw this on the Internet:

Most of the stuff we say might not be funny to everyone (or Scott — who does a lot of head shaking and meditating during our practices), but we think we're hilarious.
And if you don't agree with us, well, you can just shut your whore mouth.
1 comment:
P.S. When I say "crap-o-la" I mean it respectfully, as in: all that nonsequitur goodness you produce. Oh yeh. Oh yeh. Sock it to them.
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