Yesterday was the first show that we played in a long time. It was a payback to my dealer Lloyd, for hooking me up this spring, when I got laid off from Chemi-Cor. It was his kid brother, Marty’s 16th birthday party, and he wanted a few bands to show up, to keep the kids comin'. It was us, some shitty industrial band from Cherry Acres, called "Control, Alt., Delete", and Marty’s favorite Goth band, "Painbow". They had the cake and ice cream before any of the bands went on. Lloyd, trying to level with Marty’s' crowd, set up a "Maze-oleum", and a fuckin talking Edgar Allen Poe piñata, which was a red and orange donkey with a walkman inside, that had Lloyd reading “The Tell-Tale Heart” out of a book. By the time the little mutants broke it open, the fuckin thing wouldnt play tapes anymore. Most of the fat fuckers little friends showed up, but when they lit the candles on the cake, Lloyd said the chubby shit, wouldn’t come out of his fucking room, until Lloyd played that one song that they played in that war movie about the Vietnam war, when the helicopters were coming over the village and were getting ready to shoot the people. I guess he didn’t have the soundtrack, because when the little pouting terd opened his door for his fuckin big entrance, Lloyd played what he thought was the next best thing. Iron Man. But Lloyd’s Moms’ system was busted, and it was only coming out of one speaker, so you could only hear Ozzy singing, and the drums. The fucking kid never came out. Lloyd just let the rest of the record play through one speaker, and the fuckin kid sat in his room under a blanket and wrote fuckin haiku’s about his funeral, or whatever. We played before “Painbow” came on. Like a hard boulder of sound, we took the stage, banging our heads with stamina and precision. Later, we cooled the whole thing off with an all acoustic set, reviving some of our earlier material to a younger generation, who might not have been around to see it happen. By the end of the night I was fuckin’ kibbied. For half the afternoon I drank with Lloyds’ crippled grandpa, Chuck, who kept telling me to call him “Chuck Wagon”, and to quit looking at his Russian mail-order brides tits. By the time “Painbow” went on, Chaz told me, that I was so Rub-a-Dubbed that I thought they were Pantera, so I started singing Pantera songs when they started their set. Half way through I was fuckin' yelling at the guy to quit fucking up the words, but the singer didn’t know what I was talking about, so he gave me the finger and kept on singing. Big mistake. I guess I got up on the stage and mashed his face like a potato, and my piss was the butter, if you know what I mean. Who fucking cares, the drummer had a Savatage tattoo anyway.