Category: Music

It was a dark and stormy night. Then she rolled in… a grey dame who needed some work. I was gonna ride her like Mitt Romney’s convictions… all over the place.

Thanks to all the kiddies who donated, we got ourselves a van. It was better than ideal… it was available. A ’94 Ford E-350 Club Wagon Van. For that year, the mileage is low, like the point of a career after making “Jack and Jill.”

After purchasing the van in SF, we took it to a shop. It ended up needing more work than the citizens of the state with the currently most unemployed, i.e. Nevada. Our weekend of doing interior work to the van was shot full of more holes than a “suspect” detained by the BART police. We had to begin our work around 7PM, the very night before we were gonna 23 skidoo.

The previous owner had installed a loft and a vintage loveseat. All it was missing was a fixed gear on the roof to really be from San Fran. Sean and I ripped out the loveseat like a pair of divorcees… he took half. We ended up dumping that sofa in Oakland like… like all the other fucking sofas that are dumped around Oakland.

The loft was made well with back doors in the back that locked. It was big, a queen size. The exact dimensions required by one Elizabeth II. Not being beholden to the commonwealth, we cut that fucker down about a foot. We had to fit in a coupla benches so our band of roving troubadours could sleep like a real touring band… homeless.

To bolt down the bench, I thought we’d have to make new holes like a Roman decorating his cross. Sean had the idea to move the mountain to Mohammed, or in modern parlance, move the building to the plane. We’d move the legs of the benches to fit the stock mounting holes in the van. I drilled some holes and used some self-tapping bolts for the job. By Tuesday 1AM, we were more finished than a crappy rock band dressed like monsters winning the Eurovision Song Contest.

5AM and we were on our way. We packed up our shit like a port-a-potty attendant and headed on our way to Richmond, VA. The rain was coming down on us hard and thick, like Peter North after drinking a banana smoothie. I checked my smart phone and the prognosis was bad… blizzards, and not the kind that come with crumbled Oreos. We turned away from our path towards the Sierras and headed towards the Mojave, instead. We wouldn’t be heading through all those weird, NASCAR-lovin’ pro-lifin’ militia-havin’ immigrant-huntin’ guv’ment-hatin’ states, rather we’d be headin through those other weird, NASCAR-lovin’ pro-lifin’ militia-havin’ immigrant-huntin’ guv’ment-hatin’ states. America, truly the melting pot.

And somehow, magically, after a 3,000 miles long drive we’ll be in Antarctica livin with monsters like Kurt Russell in the best horror movie ever made. Disagree? “Yeah, well fuck you, too!” But first, taco night at Jim’s in Richmond. It’s so nice to be back in my jammy pants.

For a list of the tour dates we’re going on with GWAR, Municipal Waste, and Kylesa check out it out here. 

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com

After the show in Calgary, some of the nice kids took us to a motel for a night of much needed rest. Unfortunately, the rest was not coming as 12 or so of them filed onto the room we got. No worries, these Canadian youngins were ever so polite, shushing themselves and comporting quite unlike their American counterparts might have. We had an excellent few hours discussing with them all the things we probably cared about 15-20 years prior to giving up hope on life.

If anything got outta hand, it was probably our fault.

We had the following day off for the long drive to Vancouver. We took it easy, driving during the day to enjoy the majestic view of the Canadian Rockies. I think on the Canadian side, the giants play curling and drink Elsinore beer. Take off, eh, you hosers.

We stopped about four hours outside of Vancouver in the next biggest place, a city called Kamloops. It was colder than a witch’s tit stuck in an icecube. Luckily, we’ve discovered the Canadian economy motels are of a caliber higher than their American cousins. It seems they all have indoor pools and spas. A good amount even have indoor water slides, apparently a strange obsession for these syrup-slurping flapper heads. Voyeur cam:

Snow started coming down in the morning. Tire chain check: check, we don’t have any. Roll out! Not very smart, but this ain’t my van and it didn’t come with chains. I was sure crossed-fingers were about as much assurance a we could get.

Without incident, we entered Vancouver. We were loading out in the loading zone of the club into their loading elevator when some lady-boy bike cop said we were unloading illegally (in the loading zone) and had to move. Whaaaaaaaat? Okay, we’ll move, and Sean grabs the last cab as I’m walking to the front with keys. She-he says, “I don’t appreciate you illegally unloading after I gave you a warning…” as I flash her the keys in my hands. Holy fuck, we all wanted to go 99% on the he-bitch, but dammit, we are acting professional on this tour! Plus we are all cowards who can’t afford a ticket. Canadian bacon sucks.

The show in Vancouver went off fantastically. We got to see our drummer friends Hesher from Mass Grave and Jay from Golers. Our new bud Germ from the GWAR production crew went on stage in our monkey suit and proved to be quite the perfomer as he battled a robot and air guitared a might club. This is the most awesomely nice guy on this tour.

The next day we headed towards Seattle and one uppity border guard wanted to see our “carnet,” aka a “merchandise passport.” That’s the sheet that I’d drawn up with our gear list on it that no guard going INTO Canada asked to see or stamp. According to this guard, it was our job to ask and make them do their job. Kinda like when you have to stop the post man when he’s dumping mail in the street and remind him it goes in the box in front of your house. We just played dumb and annoying, she got frustrated and waved us on. God damn bacon. We were back in the land of freedom (from healthcare)!

Into Seattle, and the first of our last shows. Sad whale song! At least we had a cool place to park.

Warbeast, featuring our friend Bruce of Rigor Mortis fame, began their leg as the openers for the second half of the GWAR tour here.

We added to the bill later and went on first of four sans pay. It was well worth it for us, as setting up shows opposite GWAR on our way home would’ve been stupid. Our only crisis was a cracked kick drum head and missing the runner by about one minute. I headed to go get one and discovered if you wanna get anywhere quick in a city, DON’T take 5th Avenue.

We still got on stage in time and had one of our best, most trouble free shows. Kogar the Destructor managed to make it into the crowd and bop all the people selling merch, Kevin, Brad, and Nicole, on their heads. Warbeast was also amazing. GWAR was loads of fun, as I sat in the back with Ryan from Engorged singing all the lyrics to Crack in the Egg, Salamanizer, and more. I think Ryan had a better handle on it than Oderus.

Our party split up a bit as some headed to PDX, some to another house, and some to Capitol Hill where I got to meet up with my lady fair and some other fine friends at Unicorn, probably my favorite bar in Seattle with the most kickin’ mac & cheese in the world. After a nights rest at Vince from Anhedonist’s pad we rolled on to PDX and met back up at the Roseland Theater. It was time for the final confrontation.

Portland was a super fun show for us, with the crowd going apeshit and the ape-thing going apeshit on a robot, and just general mayhem. At one point during a bit where I complain about being hungry, Andy from ETID brought us all sandwiches.

I was laughing as we threw them all around and into the crowd. My so-far trusty V4-B amp died somewhere in the middle of the show. My Sansamp didn’t, though. I’m not looking forward to repair costs, ah well. Warbeast and ETID likewise had great sets. PDX is always kind to our lot.

GWAR had asked us to help them on stage later and kill the World Maggot. We were super excited. When they hit the stage, Oderus was… not Oderus. His energy was low, something was up. In fact, GWAR was cancelling the next two shows for the wake of Cory Smoot, aka Flattus Maximus. This had to hang heavy over the scumdogs.

We waited backstage in costume at the appointed hour. We watched GWAR during the last song of their main set. Oderus began to shed his skin and there appeared Dave Brockie. He leapt into the crowd as the song ended. What the fuck? Sean and I were in shock. Dave came around to the backstage, grabbed a mic, and jumped back up. With all due emotion, he brought back and introduced the members of GWAR to the stage sans scumdog uniforms. Mike was walking around with goat legs. Jameson was without a helmet. Brad was on drums. Bob, Matt and Scott were the stagehands.

Holy fuck. I didn’t want to go out onstage. This was their moment. This was catharsis. Bob told us backstage, “fuck it, we are still doing what we planned.” Ooookay. I was still hesitant until I saw Dave point at us and say, “Ghoul, get the fuck out here!” I headed onto stage while Maggots played, and the crowd cheered. Either Bob or Matt grabbed me and started me towards the World Maggot. I, like Jerry Springer and hundreds of slutty broads before me, was going to be lunch. I got fed to the Maggot and reborn into the hands of Germ on the other side, as he screamed, “fuck yeah, Ross, come on!” Oh man. I was in a daze. Dan, Dino, and Sean were busy chopping off the head of the maggot while I went downstairs to change.

I headed back up as Sick of You was playing and saw our robot, aka Scott Bryan, and our monkey-man, aka Peter Povey fighting on stage with GWAR and the slaves as the Biledriver squirted the crowd. At some point, Dave brought out Cory’s guitar and held it for the crowd to revere. I couldn’t contain myself, and jumped next to Beef, aka Jameson, and launched into the last chorus of Sick of You. I got a Biledriver to my backside from Bob. I left the stage watching robots, monsters, and slaves hugging. What the fuck.

Tour was over. Lots of hugging all around and a few beers over at Ground Kontrol. A lost DDR tournament. Basically, a blur. Like this whole tour.

It’s the biggest tour I’ve ever been on, with monumental highs and the most catastrophic downs. Totally indescribable. GWAR has always been one of my all time favorite bands, digesting their music, lyrics and movies, seeing them on every tour since my first on This Toilet Earth… this was the most amazing opportunity. I didn’t wanna see my heroes go through something like the loss they felt on this tour, but it’s heartening to see them pull through it.

Thanks, guys, I wouldn’t be doing what I do without you.

(drawing from a fan hanging in the GWAR tour bus)

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Minneapolis… we’re gonna make it after all!

We were going to play First Avenue. This is a very famous club, probably known to most as the club from Purple Rain. Imbued with the spirit of the Morris Day and the Time, the zeitgusto if you will, I got Scott on stage with me for a little dance.

Jealous, ladies?

During sound check, we had a recurring problem come up yet again. We had another S.T.D. (sound tech douche). We had the same problem in the House of Blues in Cleveland. We’ve got a dead-easy set up… Downstage vocals, one bass, two guitar, and a five-piece drum kit. That’s as basic rock and roll as it gets. The one real variable is this:

That is a well-bloodied Elektro-Harmonix V256 vocoder pedal. It’s a newer product we needed. As far as I can tell, it’s the only genuine vocoder pedal around, has presets, and allows us to finally give voice to our onstage robot. It’s so new, these S.T.D.s absolutely scoff and treat us like some n00b children as soon as we mention it. They love to add how long they’ve been doing sound, too, as if the show tonight is our first time on stage. Douches.

The V256 runs a low impedance, balanced output like any vocal effect. It happens to be in pedal form. The thing is, it also adds some gain to the output whether in effect mode or bypassed. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t affect the sound. Sean always politely let’s the S.T.D. know the issue about gain before he checks the mic, because it can feedback pretty gnarly if the mixing board starts with the mic on high gain. Some, as soon as they hear “pedal,” scoff at us like we’ve just told them we slept with their ex-girlfriend. We have to take it and be polite, because they can munch our sound for the whole evening if they’re dicks.

This is my P.S.A. to S.T.D.s everywhere: the EHX V256 pedal exists. It’s a vocal effect for microphone, not a repurposed guitar effect. It’s a balanced line out, low impedance, XLR hook up. For some reason, it adds gain, but it’s worth the two seconds of turning a single knob down for the vocoding effect. Thanks.

Also, our drummer DOES need power for his fan. Sure, we have a short set, but we are also playing in costumes that cover our breathe hole. If your fat S.T.D. ass wants to sit on the kit and play thrash and blast beats in a mask for 30 minutes without a fan to prove us a wrong, go ahead. I guess we can use our line-check for that instead of arguing the need for a single extension cord.

And then we had an absolutely ripping set in Minneapolis. Dino’s old bandmate Todd came out, even, and got to experience his first GWAR show.

We had a plan to start the next drive right after the show. It’s nominally 21.5 hours to Edmonton, Alberta, not including breaks. We wanted to get a head start so we could recuperate in a hotel the night before the show. I slept in the van during GWAR to prep for a long night drive and sadly missed them. As events turned out, very sadly.

The next day, tragedy struck the GWAR camp. Words cannot describe our feelings on getting the news, so I’ll not even attempt to try. The sad event of Cory “Flattus Maximus” Smoot’s passing is well documented elsewhere.

We spent the evening in a daze, but were told the tour would continue. Amazing. Nothing stops GWAR: not Cardinal Syn, not Corporal Punishment, not Granbo, and not even Death himself.

We got into Edmonton, and it was emotional. Lots of unfocused sadness and rage. But professionalism had to reign and the show had to go on. It couldn’t have been a better place as the venue was raging with rabid tigers. Everyone had fire inside, none more than the scumdogs bereft of a brother. Oderus brought it: he played it fun and played it sad. I mean, I can honestly say I’ve never been more choked up watching a space monster ask for a moment of silence while he peed on people’s faces.

I don’t think it’s gonna get easier. It’s rough, but shit’s gotta keep going.

Unrelated to tragedy, the Edmonton Events Center is located in the most insanely huge mall I’ve ever seen. Same crap shops, plus rolly coasters, a water park, ice rink, haunted house, pirate ship, submarine ride… Ah fuck, let’s get to the pix:

It was like a vacation land with a convenient Spencer’s Gifts nearby if you needed some fart spray. The next day, we headed to Calgary, kinda. The Canadians apparently hate coherent signs on the freeway. It took us 45 minutes just to get outta Edmonton! I guess that’s our fault for having a GPS from 1986, aka an atlas. After getting lost, we finally made our way to a hall on a college campus. Can’t any Canadian venue just be in a normal place?

The show went off nicely and the tigers continue to support the brothers of GWAR in their time of grief. The blood still flows, the scumdogs slay, and GWAR still rules. We’ll just continue to do our best to support.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Fuck.

(sketchbook, 2004)

R.I.P. Cory Smoot 1977-2011

And the wheels keep rolling…

(update on the one year anniversary of Cory’s passing, November 3, 2012: contributions to the Smoot family fund can be made at http://www.metalblade.com/smootfamilyfund/)

Location:King St,Emerson,Canada

We’ve been lucky to meet some awesome people on this tour, like Jim the GWAR truck driver. He let us stay in his hotel room the night before our much anticipated show at the Rave in Milwaukee.

Notice a name missing? I guess were are not as anticipated as I thought. No problem, we will make numbskulls of these Milwaukeeans yet. I mean, it’s not like there’s fuck all to do there anyway, except get sprayed with blood one night and Faygo the next. Oh, and one can visit the home of Frederik Pabst, creator of the cheap swill we rushed to buy before 9 pm (Milwaukee’s inexplicable cut off time) the night before. Admission is twice that of getting a six pack. I opted for the six pack.

The day of the show, we grabbed Jim and headed for a matinee of The Thing. Good enough, but not great. At least it wasn’t a remake, but a thought out prequel. It was nice to do something vaguely normal in between all these shows and night drives.

The show itself was a lot of fun, other than all the power turning off during our set and people from the crowd wandering to the backstage where people had valuables. To make it more fun, I pretended it was the old Milwaukee Metal Fest and that we were being extorted a grand to play opposite Opeth or something. Ah, the good ol’ days.

We drove out a bit and got a cheap hotel for what turned out to be just a few hours. I woke up around 7 am and like a jolt remembered we had to cross back over to EDT. We were going to lose an hour. Never mind that we didn’t even check our tour book about the early load in because of FOUR local acts playing. We were afraid of being read the riot act when we arrived late in Detroit, but ETID was even later. And the locals even later than that. We were the least irresponsible! Yay!

Harpo’s in Detroit… there is no bigger venue that is so horribly ill-prepared to put on a big show. They didn’t have enough mic’s, not to mention the ones they did put up didn’t work. They had locals on two stages in the same room playing Blink 182 covers in between the touring acts’ line check. Total bullshit. Luckily, ETID’s great sound tech, John, has taken to helping us as a means to help himself & ETID keep the show going.

But the Detroit people… they know how to fuck shit up. The crowds were awesome for everyone, if not even a bit too rowdy for GWAR. Oderous yanked one potential stage diver off stage and threatened another guy who threw shit at him. I confirmed the next day that he has indeed fully beat the shit outta unruly bohabs in full GWAR attire.

For my part, I enjoyed our stage invader, a 9 year-old who I lifted up in my arm to be cheered by the crowd of hundreds. They were probably disappointed when I handed him back to his dad instead of drop kicking him.

Awesome crowd… and I was told far less Nazi punks than normal. Oh boy, all those swastika tattoos sure do stick out after just one has been shown to you. Way to go, Detroit. Luckily, we met Brian and Kate who loved Dystopia so much they hugged Dino and offered us a place to stay. They also made us flap jacks and eggs the next day. Faith in humanity restored via breakfast fixins.

Only to have your faith destroyed once again in Indianapolis…

Just kidding, Indianapolis. I realize mENSA scouts aren’t exactly clammoring to check out any GWAR shows for potential members. I was happy to see my old MDF buddy Erica, as well as my buddy Adam I had met when Ludicra rolled through before. The show was a lot of fun, but the dick bag who was begging for a $2 discount on one of our cheap ass shirts because he “just spent $140 on Every Time I Die merch!” can bite me. My rage was quickly dispelled by the kitties at Adam and his girl Weronika’s house.

After driving through Chicago twice, we finally got to play there the next day. We played the House of Blues, or House of Stairs as Jizmak referred to it. It is an amazing rock star style, if not tiring, venue. It takes up five stories from loading dock to penthouse backstage. My legs still hurt. There were back stages tucked away for everyone, a top notch crew, awesome dinner, showers, and even secluded booths in the mezzanine where we enjoyed watching GWAR like second-rate Statler and Waldorfs.

Notice the lack of wires on stage. I have to admit, for years I’ve dismissed wireless systems as fucking rock star BS. After having a klutz dressed as 7′ tall robot knock your cables out night after night, I’m rethinking wireless systems as god damned practical. Andy from Every Time I Die also uses a Hughes and Kettner Red Box, a DI speaker simulator for guitar that eliminates the need for a mic in front of the guitar cab. Pretty cool, but not very punk. Apparently for us, punk is getting constantly unplugged and having gear break down. It’s hard to be so TRV3.

After the show, we were supposed to stay with my friend Will from Indian. The show ended early in accordance with Chicago laws regarding all-ages shows. I thought it was a good time to get some sleep and recover some health before the next slog of drives. GWAR and ETID had other ideas and took my boys out for some self-medication. I woke up alone in the van, still parked in the morlock tunnel underneath the House of Blues. Around 3 am everyone returned with stories of penthouse hotel suites, VIP rooms at the Hard Rock, and lots of alcohol. I’d gotten the short straw and it was placed in a cup of coffee for what became another night drive.

Delerious the next morning and with a few hours to spare, I was pulled onto Route 66 by giant statues aside an antique mall.

The Pink Elephant antique mall was a fun visit. We made a bunch of new friends with the locals who were likely afraid of our large pockets on first glance. Nothing more adorable than a metal head antiquing.

I was happy to find and buy everyone Not heads. Yo Charlie, watch the beat!

We ended up early at the show in Sauget, right outside St. Louis. I passed right the fuck out and woke up in time for soundcheck. Pop’s is big club surrounded by industry and strip clubs. Everyone was seeking grub, but it was only by delivery, save for the Penthouse strip club next door that was manned by a 4-star chef. I headed over and gained free entrance with my tour badge. I was pleasantly surprised by the wonderful pasta primavera with a side of three topless girls simulating sex with each other to a techno backbeat. All class.

We’ve had a lotta luck with shows so far. By that bar, this show was a disaster. First, nobody remembered to wake a slumbering Scott until one minute before we hit the stage. Then, after Sean announced the first song, Dan discovered the power on his side of the stage was off. I lost my strap on the first note. Sean broke a string. I had a pedal failure and had to get into a monkey – robot fight to fix it while holding up a crumbling mic stand. When it thankfully ended, the crowd showed us all due patience and didn’t boo.

The revelers of the night before, Dino, Sean, and Dan, were assigned the night drive ahead of us on hungover tummies. The price of living large. After an uneventful ride back north to more cold and rain, the Twin Cities loom in the foreground and I’m bundled in my Snuggie. I wish it was a superior Slanket, because this tour is likely to get colder and wetter as we head back towards the Great White North.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Half way. That’s about how my body feels at this point. Half way to the shitter.

It’s a lovely day off between Milwaukee and Grand Rapids. GWAR is off jet setting to play the Jimmy Fallon show, and I don’t envy them and their schedule in the slightest. For me, it’s time to reflect on the last few days. So, driving, rain, sweat on top of old sweat, more rain, and drive. Yup, that’s the gist of it.

Being on this tour has been rewarding and awesome, but fun? The term is relative. The lack of sleep, the tight scheduling, the onset of the cold in the air and in our bodies… all for < 30 minutes of glory in a molding costume. Yeah, it's worth it. We drove all night into New York to secure a parking place for us, which became securing a parking place for ETID as well, who showed up later. We’ve also been made to use their cabinets with some frequency now as the stages get shallower. That’s fine, but when I asked, “well, what are the Ohms of their cabinets?” I was answered, “it doesn’t matter, just plug in.” Ummm, bullshit. Unless someone wants to buy me a replacement NOS 40-year-old power transformer, those Ohms are to be checked. With a couple Marshalls at 16, two Oranges at 16, and a pair of Aguilar for bass at 4 each, ETID’s cab set up works fine for us. But I had to run my head at 2 Ohms to run both bass cabs, because, “two on the road, you half the load.” (tm & c Ross Sewage 2011) Or, it likely would’ve been safe running at the previous setting of 4 Ohms with just some lost volume, because, “up with tubes, down with solid state.” (tm & c Ross Sewage 2011) The show was sold out. Awesome, but I had to duck off to see my friend Laurie in another bar because we have less guest spots than members. That’s rough. Then we drove all night to Cleveland. No sleep till outta Brooklyn. We had a few hours with our pal Süree, slept for few after the show, then onto Toronto and Canada. Rain, rain, rain as we loaded in. We played, and then as we do every night, loaded directly out. About 100 people were still in line in the rain when we plowed our gear through them as ETID began their set. That line included my friends and guests Amanda and Kevin. Sorry, guys, it just wasn’t in the cards to see us. Instead, they got reach arounds from security just in time to see GWAR. We were given some beer and told to take it to our backstage: the van. As the openers, we get the last of the takings. Largely, our backstage has been our van. To be sure, the GWAR crew with Germ, Bob, Matt, and Gibby have been as accommodating as possible. They find space amongst their prepared props night after night for us to change into stage garb and make space for our schtick. The generosity and sharing on the part of the headliners of this tour has been amazing and noted. And then it’s out the door. Kevin and Amanda put us up for a few hours sleep and made us some amazing cookies that we ate while we waited in customs to get back to eating freedom in ‘Merica. It took about three hours, twice what we anticipated. In America, it’s guilty till proven innocent. We waited out in the cold while they X-rayed our van, presumably looking for all those Canadians we were sneaking in to work in the poutine fields.

That made us pretty late for our show in Grand Rapids. We made it just in time for our soundcheck. On this level of touring, I think we we are still seen as the fuck ups. Sure, I’ve been playing and touring since before half the tigers in the crowd were even born, but I guess I’m still more punk than punctual.

The show still went off and we had a good set. We’ve worked on our show a bit as we go, hugging our pander bear tightly. These crowds want more blood, so we are giving them more than when we started the tour. I don’t think they expect it from the first band: the crew at Irving Plaza certainly didn’t. Scolded for making a mess at a GWAR show? It beggars belief.

Our new favorite brand of blood is Ben Nye’s Mass Casualty. We got this from propmeister Scott’s pal, Jim Stramel. We stayed with him in Norfolk, VA after he did a great job as our robot killing monkey-man on stage. He had used the Mass Casualty blood in his movie, “Degenerates Ink.” (a rolling slaughterhouse of blood and ink). He also used it in a music video he did. After he shot the video, the blood left on the ground was so convincing the cops were called in. Fuck to the hella yeah. It’s a great powder mix, dilutes well, and IS NOT corn syrup. No more corn syrup blood! EVER! It’s the worst, corn syrup lobbyists be damned.

From this very blog, I had received an email from one Damian Master, who offered to put us up in Grand Rapids for the eve and fix us breakfast. Looks like all my tour bitching online has worked out to some much deserved pity! In all seriousness, Damian also plays music, and he understands life in the road can be hard. I think I might’ve heard that sentiment expressed in a song or 5,000. These oases of kindness are alway appreciated, and bands should always give these tigers swag. Also, his dog Mike ruled.

Now, after the leisurely break, we are off to Milwaukee to hang out with GWAR truck driver Jim and hopefully see The Thing. Not his thing, the movie. Then, back to it… the final half. As opposed to the second-to-last half.

“How the wheels keep rolling
And another sign post gone
Baby, can’t you hear me calling?
Like a sad whale song…

Sad whale song, baby.”

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Location:S Lumber St,Chicago,United States