Pinhead Circus comes through town, and plays to a crowd of eight. Tamara and I took them to their first whack shack down in New Orleans, and we have always found them to not only rock, but be good sports as well. They crash at the house, and proceed to weld their homemade trailer back together in our alley. That, children, is DIY.

The monolith of 'Lazy Susan" punk rock shows, The Warped Tour, presents us once again with our annual challenge of sneaking in, scamming back stage and stealing beer. The 'security' for this event is a horde of undereducated suburban kids on a seventeen year old power trip, so needless to say all of our goals are accomplished in under twenty minutes. White people are stupid, and their kids are worse. We hang out with eternally punk rock fellows of NOFX ( I think Pat used to pose naked for them or something, because they're always really happy to see him). We resist the temptation to get nasty with a trio of tube topped skanks, get loaded, smoke dope with the truckers who can't STAND these loser band fucks, get fed, make serious fun of the Green Day drummer, and spend some quality time with One man Army. We find the poor kid who caught a ride with us on the hood of my car, suffering from food poisoning. As we completely forget about him half way to the gate, I guess it's lucky for him he remembered where we parked. I almost felt bad about leaving his cramping, diarrhea laden corpse in the hot sun for so many hours. Almost.

An annual camping trip to the hidden lake is yet again a weekend of liquor, sex and rock under the stars. Snot even christens his 'Millenium Falcon' floaty toy with some misty full moon intimacy. I swim naked and pass out drunk in the dirt next to the fire. Thank God I have an Irish drinking gene and am usually the last man standing, as I would be easy prey for pain and humiliation. As no one got poison ivy on their vagina this year, this 'Home Team' outing continues to be a success.

Living in Chicago I occasionally sneak into these Playboy parties, and they're always a good time. Last time it was to celebrate the 'Playmate of the Month', who coincidentally was the entertainment I hired for Snot's bachelor party. Unlike the party, however, I don't think she had to take the check off Hef's nose with her vagina to receive payment. This party was pretty good. Played volleyball with the "Xtreme Team", and they were 100% cool, even though they can't spell Satan ("Hail Satin"?!?). Met Darva, and she was O.K. until she explained that any reference to the Devil in her autographs would conflict with her Christian virtues. (Note: Any woman who marries someone she never met for money, takes the consolation prize, divorces him, and poses for a nudie mag is PROBABLY full of shit.)

Home Team made a pilgrimage to where we all met in college. The bar I met my wife in has a reunion, and we actually attend, for about ten minutes. We spend most of our time acting like the morons we were at eighteen, and everyone keeps a very nervous arm's length. We stalk this amazing band, Moloko Plus, and they are accommodating, even when Lisa chokes one of them for not playing the song they just played ten minutes ago again fast enough. She, of course, proceeds to puke an ocean in my back seat on the way home.

To end the summer we all headed to this year's 'Vegas Shakedown', because it makes perfect sense to head to the desert in late August. I read a list of "10 Must Do Things in Las Vegas' and of course did NONE of them. I did manage to visit a defunct meth lab, a pot farm, was given a tour of the many Asian whore houses, hit 35 to 1 on Black 13 at roulette (Hail Satan!!), meet about a thousand bimbos and saw some amazing bands. There were like sixty, but I only remember the ones I got shots of while drunk. Murder City Devils, FleshEaters, Gimmicks, Weaklings, Nashville Pussy, DICTATORS, Reds, Stitches, that lunch-loving bass player from the Donnas, Bobbyteens, B-Movie Rats and the Yo-Yo's to name a few. Those blokes from the Yo-Yo's and I had some 'surly bastard' mutual admiration society going which just goes to prove that the Irish and English CAN get along, provided you're given limitless supplies of whiskey, whores and speed. God may Bless America, but Satan loves Las Vegas!

Throw in about thirty shows, lots of drunken sex, a lot of passed up blow jobs and some LOUD street altercations, and you've a picture of what a short summer break looks like for me and mine. None of us are rich. We've survived a variety of physical and mental illness, Reagan, poverty, sodomy, violence, incarceration and still managed to become community leaders, artists and tradesmen. We are, despite our positions, very much punk rock. Whatever the rest of these suckass hypocrites in their self-absorbed little worlds are consumed with is irrelevant . I implore you all, please, get a life. We grow weary of providing your entertainment.

Friend of the Amputee