6166 NE MLK

Oh shit… Listen up industry cronies. Here’s to you with the clink and shatter of the only two champagne flutes I own, you self-loathing sadistic puppy killing fucks. We’ve got it. Need I say more? Well we do and it’s right here in anywhere we want to party USA. I’ve been to shows so good people caught on fire. I’ve seen shit so raw it was equatable to some sick pervert walking two miles into a psycho trigger happy ranchers domain just to slice a good steak off a tipped cow with his fucking Swiss army knife. So let’s say that. Let’s say that was my weekend kids. That was my damn weekend. Except of course Friday when Gemstone and I decided to take it easy with two 32s of High Life, somebody else’s couch and Good Will Hunting. All right…all right. Let it be known that in my opinion Ben Affleck is just the slickest MF dresser in that flick. I really want to start wearing those track suits now.
So Saturday night, am I correct? We had heard about like six different parties one of which was an underpants dance so Gemstone had to actually wear some Chones that night (where he got them I’m wary to ask) we set out on bike and we were going to stop by a dubious tip of 6166 NE MLK…Doesn’t exist as far as we could tell but while we were riding an old Austin acquaintance calls me and says that we just have to go see her friends band (she lives in the bay area) who are playing like 3(?) parties that night. They’re called “The Most” and they’re sooooooo awesome she says in the groupiest of voices, maybe she’s dating one of them I figured. So I’m all: sure, give me dudes number and we’ll go check them out. She says she feels uncomfortable about that and I’m just like whatever then lady. Peace. I hung up the phone. Now finally we hear the sounds all consistent partygoers have come to recognize as “La Fiesta”. We go in via the driveway, lock up the bikes and proceed with the mingle. The first point of interest of course is the kiddy pool full of Hamm’s tall boys and Old German Premium Lager. The next was the birthday girl in the full sky blue spandex replete with red crotch guard and matching cape. Happy birthday Leilani. Thanks for having us. So there’s some kind of Jam going on down in the basement…a rock show if you will. Sounds pretty live from where I’m standing and so we go down. Ever the gentleman Gemstone grabs us seconds and met me in the musty below. The jam was thick yet easy to spread- infectious even. The children were squirming, moving, grooving and ultimately oozing into hip dance jiggles. I risked death to stop one of these rowdy arm-flailing maniacs. “Who is this?” I scream, barely heard over this blind date bastard child of the Violent Femmes and the Rocky Horror Picture Show. A one night stand made in the coke den of god. And holy shit…Are you serious? Well what are the chances? It’s “The Most”. Sorry I hung up on you Lori. Your friend’s band rocks poop from clothed bottoms with the might of 50 bass drums and a standing army 5000 guitar solos strong. But enough blatant flattery. If you missed this party you might go to hell. Next to play was one of my favorite Portland acts straight from the heart of the Dirty Dirty South hails Here Comes a Big Black Cloud. They rocked like a spring break South Padre margarita sorority rape fest crammed car bomb style into an old school Cadillac tank that’s somehow found it’s way onto a huge asteroid, populated by those insane nuclear mutants from the hills have eyes, and barreling on a criminally fast course heading straight toward the unholy destruction of our mother earth. It was a good set. Later that night Gemstone and I completed our Party Bingo cards after “somebody” took a rowdy shit behind a box truck and as we were leaving the scene a crack head sold us a bike for 35 dollars…Now I know, I know. Dubious morality here. But hey ya’ll I’ll do the right thing: Ride that fucker to work everyday and if somebody speaks up I’ll give it back free of gripe. As far as karma goes I believe my bases are covered. Not to mention I did help that fiend get some tail from the crack lady in the passenger seat of their little pick up. Good times.