My porridge is too COLD!

You know Spring has sprung when the insane shirtless African man down the street begins sitting out so he can yell at passersby. It’s like clockwork. Temperature above bitch cold—African guy yelling incoherently. Yesterday some kids threw rocks at him and told him to “shut the fuck up.” I tried to remeber faces for the police report but the urchins were off like jack rabbits. Not only that, their insensitive comments didn’t help the situation. If anything it made him somehow more shirtless as he waved him arms about wildly.

All that to say, when ol' African Joe begins his yelling its usually time to leave the neighborhood for a while. As luck would have it I had somewhere to go last night that wasn’t the Skylark. I say luckily because the Thursday night crowd isn’t usually a good one; most hard drinking 40-somethings without a looker among 'em (An Doof Ass, of course, loved Thursday nights. It was gross.) Surprisingly enough however my plans were not totally devoid of some Skylark connections. Derek, a nonsmoker, had some band on his label playing a show in West Town at a swinging dj lounge and nightclub. Of course, this is usually my kind of bag. I love a fine Amaretto Sour, a lounge couch and wearing sunglasses inside. It’s one of my special talents to look chic and cool in almost any environment: my apartment, the alley, walking to and from the laundry mat, etc.

Be that as it may however I was skeptical. Recommended local bands can span the spectrum from “pretty great” to “aren’t my friends awesome?” Well, if you ever get the change to hear or see Killer Whales, check ‘em out. They were pretty swinging even if they insisted on playing their set in only their underwear. Probably what impressed me most though was their witty stage banter. It encompassed all range of reference to how shitty the venue was and how if the people couldn’t hear the vocals they might as well “quit this fucking shit.”

You can't write shit like that.