The extortionist at the Belmont Saturday night marked my hand with an indelible permanent marker. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t tattoo my ass, but shit. Two days later, and it’s still as strong as ever. I feel like a male Hester Prynne without the fun part, unless you think sitting a few feet in front of a giant speaker, blood trickling from your earholes as a band performs way out on the cutting edge, creating pure white noise unencumbered by such bourgeois trappings as words and music, is an orgasmic experience.
In the early days of Saturday Night Live, the Grateful Dead were no strangers to the program. In didn’t hurt that two of the show’s main writers, Tom Davis and Al Franken, were big Deadheads. One of the group’s performances took pla... Read Post
Our first story of life-altering behavior comes from Utah and involves a woman turning her life around; Dispatch personnel informed officers that a female had a knife and had demanded money. They later added that there was a male su... Read Post