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Merry Skull Bites

NOVEMBER 10, 2002
"Time marches on, time is waiting in the wings, ticking away the moments that make up a dull day, but time is not on rock's side. Believe it, pal, your hippie grandma had rock and roll way better than you ever will. And your punk rock daddy, he didn't have it half as good as grandma, no matter what he tells you, Jello Biafra had nothing on Abbie Hoffman, but he still had it way better than you! In a world where Al Qaeda threatens to blow up a million children, where crooked corporate CEOs pocket billions while their companies, employees, and investors eat shit, rock and roll is a nice diversion, an interesting sociological study, a course in historical social revolution for the culturally starved, a nostalgia machine for those who remember when suntans were sexy instead of a cancer precursor, when the worst thing you could get from promiscuous sex was a disease a couple shots could cure, once upon a time when the drugs really were recreational." By Lucid Nation's Ronnie Pontiac.

OCTOBER 19, 2002
"He's a rock star, alright, the real kind. You might get lucky and hear him slumming with us at one of our infrequent shows, or you might get really lucky and see one of his even less frequent performances with his noise duo, but you'll never hear his songs on the radio, or see him front a band, or hang the hacks with his wit in the national media the way Cobain or Lennon did. That band he was in never recorded. They never wanted to." By Tamra Spivey of Lucid Nation.

JULY 7, 2002
"To kill time, I was spray-painting the logo of my band on the walls-the biohazard symbol. Paz tried to wrestle the can out of my hand to write the anarchy symbol. A cop car turned the corner so I chucked the can into some shrubs. The cops found the empty canister in the bushes and wrote me up for it." By Derek White.

JUNE 1, 2002
"The Hives were already a couple of songs into their set and what I saw and heard left me slack-jawed and thoroughly blissed-out. The band was tighter than a frog's ass, viciously pounding their grooves home, with a singer who dominated the stage like a young Jagger in the packed club. How can you not love a singer named Howlin' Pelle Almqvist?" Read David Weiss' version of falling in love.

MAY 18, 2002
"Okay, it's just another show, and it's just another magic connection between the fates and the taste of a young man. And one has every right to point out how many more useful, more conscious, more simple, more neighborly, more creative things he could have put his resources toward, including his time." By Petra Waters.

APRIL 4, 2002
"Sasha remembers when D. Boon sang." Read Matthew Wascovich's ode to DIY voice goosebumpery.

MARCH 11, 2002
"I'm the same kid walking through bigger halls trying to be noticed by doing his best to not get noticed." Jim Martin's life in dischord.

FEBRUARY 24, 2002
"A large lady with heavy make up and a leopard skin jacket takes my dollar, and I follow everyone into the back room. It's kinda small and once everyone is inside it's a tight squeeze. The interior is red velvet. A fake yellow man introduces two Geishas. They are slightly chubby white girls in their early twenties. They are all Geishaed up and circle the audience collecting dollar bills in their bosoms. Both girls are quite cute." By Derek Henkel.

FEBRUARY 15, 2002
" and this arrogant shit named Evan Dando who fronted The Lemonheads. Me and Tracy walked through this effluvium like Made Guys, untouchable in our own little sphere of irrelevance. Ah, the beauty of ignorant youth." Read Charles Shaw's ballad to the songs behind the songs.

FEBRUARY 3, 2002
"Woke up sunrise Tuesday morning, set the chain of events into motion. Stepped out into backyard, poured circle of salt and cigarette and marijuana ash, and stepped inside with an armful of bait: honey for Oshun, aguadiente for Eleggua', a dried frog for Coyote, etc. It's a long list but the folks I invited to that show were the ones I felt at the previous shows, didn't see any reason to have 'em miss out on this tour." Read Miguel Benito Calbillo's letter to an incarcerated friend. An account of the October 23, 2001 Butthole Surfer's Concert in Houston, Texas.

JANUARY 27, 2002
"Everyday I would dress hopelessly in a blue Colorado River tee shirt that hung down over my skateboard scuffed legs and walk bra-less to the community pool where friends and I would whittle away the day. Our toys consisted of knives and pens for carving up park benches with the latest objects of our frustrated lust's names. Our ghetto blasters maintained a musical background as we frantically struggled to memorize the words to illicit sounding songs like "Shook Me All Night Long". I would open my mouth wide, inhale a nicotine puff and wait for my very favorite line. "Knocking me out with those American thighs..."

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