Thrice Related Blog Post...

...at a different website yet again. http://www.bluntmag.com.au/
I'll post it here as well in a few days. They left out all my hyperlinks but they're Australian criminals so they cannot be faulted. Thanks to Kelly and for everyone for reading.

Ah, fuck it, I'm posting it now.

Here we go, kids. My name is Trevor. I don’t know any of you and you certainly don’t want to know me. However, I work for an American band called Polar Bear Club and in light of their upcoming visit to your lawless country, I thought it best we get better acquainted. Well, I’m not actually making the visit in February, I’ll be back home too busy enduring a soulless winter and working a separate job that along with alcoholism and a pack a day cigarette habit will surely acquaint me with an early, much needed grave.

As an icebreaker of sorts, I thought I’d spin together a couple paragraphs about one of our recent trips out. Literally days after spending an entire month on the road with hippie drum circle all stars Strike Anywhere, Polar Bear Club felt it was a good idea to once again climb into our filthy sink hole of a van and head towards the West Coast with some band called Thrice. Nine shows all together, the first starting in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and ending not even two weeks later in Anaheim, California. Sounds pretty wild, right? Well, not actually. If I were to compare this tour to an ex girlfriend, Thrice dates would be Denise. Ah, Denise. On the outside she seemed like a good idea. However, behind closed doors Denise was a complete bore in the sack. In fact, I’ve fucked corpses with more signs of life.

One of the biggest (only) perks of touring with Polar Bear Club is we often tour with bands I’m already a fan of. Such has been the case on dates with Strike Anywhere, Gaslight Anthem, American Steel, and Broadway Calls. This means during downtime, I can always sneak away from my business duties (beer) and sing along to some of my favorite songs. This time around, was a bit different. No offense to the guys in Thrice but I’d never, ever actually listened to the band. I absolutely do not know one song by them. This isn’t an affront to the band itself or any of the members, I just happen to only give a damn about Avail, pain pills, and light beer. At my advanced age, I have no time to add a fourth interest. So since that perk was missing, I had to look to other avenues for fun.

I continue to tour because I love all (some) of the dudes in Polar Bear Club and believe in their music. Like everyone else in our camp, I hoped PBC would draw a significant and dedicated crowd each night. When PBC goes over well, I feel much better about my life choices as well as theirs. There were a total of three bands on this particular package with Polar Bear Club opening up first. Most shows began an hour after door time, which meant PBC was lucky enough to usually play to a packed room. As it turns out, other than a couple of friends, no one was there early to ensure they caught the opening act’s set. It was more a matter of arriving in order to get the best position near the front to catch Thrice. Of course, playing to sold out rooms has its advantages. While most of the faces in the crowd were glazed over with eye lids half shut, one hopes that the name Polar Bear Club will stick in the minds of either the under 18 and close to 30 age demographic that made up each night next time we come to town. Plus, unlike our previous tour, no one fell asleep during a PBC set or texted while sitting on stage as PBC performed. It’s the little things that make life such a delight, kids. Ok, let’s see here. So I don’t know any songs by the headlining band and Polar Bear Club is getting a lukewarm response most nights. No worries, I’ll find a dude in one of the other bands to hang out and get sloppy with. I WILL have fun, like it or not.

With such a short span of tour dates and long drives, for the first time ever, I wasn’t able to really bond with any other tour members. For one, Thrice was on a gigantic tour bus as big as your continent. I don’t bring up the bus as an insult, If I had the option, hell, I’d have two tour busses – one for me and one for my ego. I guess I just missed past tours where all the bands toured in vans and were forced to sit in a common dressing room, like it or not. That way, friendships are forged faster and common interests are shared. Since Thrice spent most of their time on their Death Star sized vehicle, I wasn’t able to really communicate or actually learn anyone’s names. For the first time in my life I actually missed touring with such bands and Ruiner and Crime In Stereo. Both being bands we’ve toured with extensively and shared many a cramped room with. However, those nostalgic moments were fleeting and quickly forgotten when I was able to take a shower backstage without Rob from Ruiner trying to capture dick pics on his cell phone.

With all the bitching I’ve done here, one would think there weren’t any highlights. Or one might think I’m just a complete asshole who likes to hear/read himself complain. While that may be the case I’m quite grateful to all of Thrice’s crew who went out of their way to help us out in all facets. This includes Thrice’s tour manager who absolutely took care of us and treated us like a co-headlining band. Every night we had enough food to keep all of our bellies full and enough beer to keep me drunk enough to not quit PBC and go back to University. We’ve been on bigger tours before and hands down, this is the best we have ever been treated. And that’s really all there is folks. Nothing too shocking, revealing or even excited. But most times, that’s how tour is - like boring sex with my ex girlfriend Denise. The real story of this trip actually began right after our last show with Thrice in California. Immediately, four of the six PBC dudes hopped in the van and drove two days straight back to New York with very little sleep. And if you’ll have me back sometime, I promise gory details of debauchery. Nope, that’s a lie, more boring sex.

Down With Women, Up With Dudes!

Often, I get told my show goers and friends that I don’t update my blog enough; that I need to write more. Well, after explaining that I don’t owe them a fucking thing, I also point out that I’m actually on pace to write more this year than I did last. I then kindly ask my detractor to “suck it” and I make my way to the nearest bathroom stall to either cut or purge. But here’s an offering to satisfy the seven readers that are nice enough to check in with me every once and awhile. No, it’s not a blog about our current tour with Thrice. I’m delivering that piece to some Australian rag I’ve never heard of or read for my friend Kelly. This is absolutely not about Polar Bear Club’s tour with Face To Face and Pegboy, in fact, I’m never going to write about that experience. Why? Well, I drank too much and ingested too many pills to remember even one date. Call me King College, fuckers. The following is more fodder until someone starts paying me for this shit. Then and only then will I put in effort. Be nice.

Every tour there's usually one dude in one of the other bands that we're on tour with that I hit it off with really well. Imagine that, dudes liking me but not women? Shocking! Either way, I don't mean in a "Yo, lets do a standing 69" but more in a "Hey, let's drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and make fun of Chris Browne." In most instances, Nate gets really jealous for a couple reasons. First off, Nate thinks he's my best friend (untrue) and secondly Bastard Nate believes I actually steal these dudes from him. Nate delusion-ally believes the cool dudes in the other bands should like him more than me. Joke's on him, I'm a drunker, cooler James Dean and Nate's like a shittier, less funny Urkel. The following is my list of top dudes in other bands we've toured with.

1. Frank Turner - This is a weird one because Frank and I don't have much in common. Frank is highly educated whereas Trevor doesn't know the difference between their, there, and they're. Even the mere mention of the word alcohol gets Frank drunk and stumbly while I fancy myself a bit of a boozehound. Frank wears white Jnco's and may get a perm every six months. Me, well, I wear pants that are too tight and haven’t had hair (sex) since the late 90's. Somehow though we looked past our difference and oh fuck it, Frank's on Epitaph and I want to meet Milo. That’s why he's my number one dude-man.

2. Every dude in Broadway Calls. Ok, so we're on tour right now with Thrice somewhere in California. I was sitting behind the merch table when a lightning bolt of panic struck me from out of nowhere. I forgot to put my homeboys in Broadway Calls on my list initially. A mistake such as this is worse than a mother murdering her own children. Ty, Josh, Matt, Lazer. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm hammered right now so this makes no sense. Anyway, the first time we met Broadway Calls they played with us at the Westcott in Syracuse, NY. I didn't hang out with them that much because, per usual, I had my eyes on a devil woman that turned me into a weeping mess for a couple months. Anyway, that soul sucker is gone but Broadway Calls remain.

3. D-Man of Defeater - Unlike Frank, D-Man and me have a lot in common – self hate, a drinking problem and we’re both really annoying when drunk. Another positive is that Derek is covered in horrible tattoos that make me feel a lot better about the shitty ones I have. He’s like a third degree burn victim but with ink instead of scars and grafts. Derek would have made it to the top of my list I he were currently returning my text messages. But really, check out the new Defeater record, it’s incredible. I hear the lyrics are about a character in a Dean Koontz book Derek once read.

4. Sleazy aka Alex of The Gaslight Anthem. Once upon a time, Polar Bear Club toured with the biggest band in punk rock/rock and roll. Well, twice in face. Sure, they might deny it now but it did happen. Ask Frank Turner, he was there. Anyway, during our two tours, Alex, the bassist, took a liking to me. Not sure why, really other than we shared a common love of rejecting reality and instead choosing a tour life of whiskey and red bull. Often, well, quite often, when I needed a stiff drink, Alex was there to make me a cocktail stronger than my love off big assed porn. I don't think you've ever seen two bigger opposites attract in a total non sexual way. Ever see that Saturday Night Live skit with Patrick Swayze and Chris Farley as erotic dancers? It was exactly like that. The ripped and buff Swayze as me and Alex as Farley of course. If you haven't witnessed what I speak of, check it out here.

5. Mark of Strike Anywhere. Strike Anywhere was one of my first favorite bands. The band used to play Rochester, New York on what seemed a daily basis and everytime I was there up front singing along. In fact, the first time I ever stage dove was at a Strike Anywhere show. But none of that matters because Mark wasn't in the band then. Mark wears funny hats and clocks in at about eight feet tall. On stage Mark resembles a giraffe in head to toe long johns. So why does he make it on my list? Well, when I was out of cigarettes he'd bum me a couple. It's the little things, kids. Give me cancer or liver failure and we'll be friends forever.

6. Joe of Four Year Strong. I've never heard the band even though we toured for over a month with the band. I'm told they get ragged on for the type of music they play. Don't care. I stopped trying to determine what was punk and what wasn't around the time my hair began to fall out from dying it too much. The only time I ever even use a studded belt anymore is when I'm spanking a dude on the ass with it. Soak that image in, kids. But yeah, the common theme here is booze and smokes. Joe and I love to drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes and play the bass. Well, I own a bass. Doesn't mean I play it. On that note, check out my band Mayflower, I play bass for them. I once made Brian Fallon of Gaslight listen to us and he almost quit music.

PS. Honorable mentions go out to Joe from Set Your Goals (mostly because he's at the show tonight), Baby Bradley formerly of The Swellers, and Aaron from Attica! Attica!

Issue Oriented

New blog up at a different website, check it out.

http://www.issueoriented.com/justoneblog/trevor-backer-tonight-is-alive-pbc-fest-8/

Cut Yourself To This

Wrote a couple days ago, don't really remember when....

Today I woke up earlier than everyone else, per usual, in a hotel that actually resembled a small apartment. I vaguely remember what living with your parents ISN’T like so I absolutely know what I’m talking about. Yes, on rare occasions Polar Bear Club will spring for a place to sleep that isn’t a friend or total stranger’s hardwood floor. The way I see it, even a fat girl needs to feel like a princess every now and again.

The last two nights I’ve taken it a bit easy on the booze. Not a conscious decision really. It came down to not being able to bring beer out in front of the club near the merch table. Either way, I rolled out of bed surprisingly not hung over but with a pain in my heart and a bag of fluid in my chest. After pushing Jimmy back on to his side of the bed and off of mine, I stumbled to the bathroom and hacked up a rope of neon green phlegm so thick one could probably climb a tree with it. The aching in my knees has returned and at times it’s hard to stand in the shower. When I’m feeling especially romantic I liken myself to a prizefighter that has hung on way too long and yet still there is some fight left in him. Once that happens I smack myself in the face to remind my failing brain that I’m just a drunk with a pack a day smoking habit that has nowhere else to go.

Of course, once again, like every single morning, the thoughts start to creep in like a drunk Nate Morris in the night. The doubts and second-guessing. As I stared at myself in the mirror noticing the bags under the eyes getting blacker and deeper I wondered – “How much longer can you keep this up for?” “Are you still enjoying yourself?” “Are you doing a good enough job?” “Is it time to go back home and get back into school?” “Every single day you’re getting older, your life is on pause, what the fuck is next?” Other than fist punching my dick and brushing my teeth this is my daily routine.

On long drives and time spent alone I often question where members of Polar Bear Club are going with all of this as well. Jimmy, Goose, and Nate are all involved in serious relationships back in their respective homes. Emmett has a child and well, Chris has his collection of piss jars and his right hand. I wonder why any of them would risk losing the ones they love the most by spending months and ultimately years on the road as traveling salesmen in a profession that almost guarantees failure. After these brief couple of seconds where I’m not actually thinking about myself for once I remember that these younger dudes probably still have hopes and dreams - an ultimate goal to provide a better life for themselves as well as their partners. My goals? Well, I accomplished my ultimate achievement in the year 1999 by finishing 24 Genesee Lights in 24 hours.

So while members of Polar Bear Club are sprinting towards something, I on the other hand have been running away since 2003. I believe that was the year the person I fell in love with chose another and ever since then it’s been a life of substance abuse and the beginning of an epic losing battle between adulthood and myself. Other than parents and a sister, I have nothing back home anymore besides crippling financial debt, a car that I barely even use and a pile of stroke mags. I think the main difference between everyone else and myself is that if I had someone who preferred me to others, I’d probably never leave home again. But my family is on the road, which is a terrifying thought because I hate 80 percent of these fuckers. I once heard home is where the heartaches so all my insecurities and doubts make perfect sense. But the thing is this – every night when Polar Bear Club performs the goose bumps still appear. The butterflies in my stomach still take flight and the pain in my chest is replaced with an explosion. I might be running out of breath but I still have a couple rounds left.

Some Trevor And A Little Bit Of Jimmy

10/08/09 Cleveland Heights, Ohio

Kids, your father had a late night last night and needs his rest. If you as so much breathe heavily, I’m going to smack you and your sister in the mouth, you got it?

I’m hung-over as shit, nothing new there. Currently, I’m typing behind the merch table at a venue in Cleveland Heights named Grog Rock. This venue is actually a lot like the type of girl I’m attracted to – small, dirty, shitty and can fit a lot of dudes inside her.

(Trevor left his computer open at this point and I (JIMMY!!!!) took over the blog posting. So what’s new Internet? Have you missed me? I know you have. I’ll make this brief before Trevor comes back from smoking. Here’s what’s new with me. I really got into the show Tim and Eric on adult swim, I’m on a quest to beat every high-score in Pac-Man across the country and I miss my dog. Ahhhh here comes Trevor. Follow me on twitter JIMMYPBC. Trevor touched me and told me not to tell!!!!)

Jimmy’s short and rarely funny. Anyway, so here we are in Ohio. Last night we were in Pittsburgh and before that, well, I can’t tell you a thing. I may have mentioned before either through twitter or my diary here about how much I enjoy the city of Pittsburgh. I have a couple good friends that live there, it looks like it can take a good punch, and even though I’ve never experienced a hard days work in my life, I enjoy the city’s blue-collar exterior. All of that being said, shows in Pittsburgh fucking suck harder than my prom date with my best friend during Senior Ball. PBC have played a bunch of shows in Pittsburgh, in fact as recently as a couple weeks ago, and no one ever really gives a fuck. Venues ranged from an art space that a troll with gargoyle fingers lorded over to two separate churches that were far too large or had idiotic drinking provisions that kept each show nice, awkward and standoffish. The only reason I should be in a church is for my eventual funeral in 2010 so I insist PBC quit playing that city. What!? We’re coming back in November?! Fuck my dick!

(Trevor left me at the table again and thought closing his computer would stop me from doing this, it didn’t. Anyway, real quick, ten minutes ago I hid Trevor’s beer from him and stood a couple feet away to watch him look for it. WOW, I’ve never seen him more determined and hard working in my life. If his job consisted only of finding beers…wait a second… sincerely, average height and always funny guy)

God dammit, Jimmy. I’d like to point out that I left this time to restock merch, not to smoke again. It just so happens though I did have a smoke while doing that. Ok, moving on. Usually, after each Pittsburgh show PBC dudes stumble to some bar named Rugger’s where we drink to forget, order fried food, play punk music on the jukebox that Browne has never heard of and hang out with good friends (Dan Rock, holler!). So other than Mark, guitarist of Strike, calling me The Crypt Keeper, the night and tour is a total blast. After the bar closed we all climbed into Strike’s hobo wagon and tried to come up with reasons why Rob from Ruiner is so angry. I proposed the theory that Rob actually has some sort of tail that he’s embarrassed and shy about but that wasn’t the popular opinion. Some or all of this may not have actually happened or perhaps I'm just projecting, either way – so far, so good. Turnouts have been great, merch sales are up even with the worst t shirt idea of all time (see above), and the dudes in Strike Anywhere are old but certainly not partied out. However, next time you see Mark from Strike, please remind him Grunge is dead, he’s not in Pearl Jam, and long john’s on stage is never acceptable. Buy me a beer.

Leeds Fest, Kind Of

I'd rather see my mom's best tit than attend, play, or crew for any type of fest again. Or at least that's how I felt while flying from Denver, Colroado to Manchester, England. Ok, here's the plan - four weeks of tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks, hop on a plane literally hours after the Denver show, fly for nine or so hours, touchdown in England, drive immediately to Leeds and play a set on the first day of the annual Reading and Leeds Fest. Terrible fucking ideas all around but that's what Polar Bear Club did.

Before I dive into the actual fest, let me bitch about the flight overseas. Why bother to complain you ask? Well, I'm a spoiled, white, undeserving asshole. Let's just say that previous in flight entertainment to England has provided myself and PBC a seamless trasnsition into other countries and timezones. On past flights I've had my choice of all sorts of movies, episodes of Scrubs and Friends, and even music all at my fingertips due to television screens built into the airplane chiars. I planned on TV being my only solace; television would get me through this permanent zombie like state insomina had placed me in. What's that? Read a book? Fuck you, I graduated college, I'm never reading again.

Stepping on to American Airlines flight 54 broke my spirit more than any she devil ever has (yep, even more than you S). Immediately I knew there wouldn't be any quality entertainment to be had because there were communal tv's with pre arranged movies to be shown. It was as if everyone on board was being forced to share and use the same toothbrush! Briefly, I considered asking the stweardess what year it was. I believed it to be 2009 but it felt like 2003 on that rikshaw with wings. The twist of the knife that was firmly placed in my spine was the reveal of the movie we were forced to watch - 17 Again starring Goose's favorite boy toy Zac Efron. Old enough to me married with at least three children, there I was viewing a movie catered to girls aged 9 -15 years old. However, my love of the body swapping movie plot (i.e. Dream A Little Dream (saw it in the theater), Vice Versa, Like Father Like Son) and a shirtless Efron resulted in a curious erection that kept me watching the whole time. Of course, I love the movie and plan on watching it again but the point is I should of had a choice!

Oh, right, Leeds Fest. Of course I'd never experienced any event on this level or capacity. Sure, I went to Warped Tour from 1996 - 2000 and I've been to the last three Fests but Reading and Leeds is a complete different animal - numerous statges, world known bands, and of course six sleep deprived Americans, five of which had to perform hours after flying over the Atlantic Ocean. PBC was to play on a "smaller" stage which housed mostly the more aggressive type bands such as A Wilhelm Screm, Rise Against and Thursday. The stage itself was a large tented plot of land that at capacity would still allow thousands of people. The more expansive mainstage delivered Radiohead and a bunch of other bands I don't give a damn about. Rainy, wet, and soggy. No, not my underware but rather the theme for our visit to Leeds. However, sunshine, dry ground and complimentary toothy blow jobs probably couldn't have changed my miserable dispostion that day.

We're all fortunate to have made good friends in the UK and Europe and while I was looking forward to seeing everyone, I was more interested in seeing the band Snuff and going the fuck to sleep. But it is always my duty to play the part of drunken clown no matter how out of it I am. So, per usual, I began to drink around eleven in the morning or so. Polar Bear Club actually got their own trailer to hang out in for a couple of hours so most time was spent inside hiding from the rain and cold. I say a couple of hours because once Set Your Goals showed up, it was time to get out and let them take over since they have five lead singers and all. But before all of that and before Broadway Calls showed up to eat all of our free food, Polar Bear Club actually performed a show. The stage was called Lock Up and PBC was the second band to play, the band The Computers were first. Obviously, everyone in the van was pretty drained and Goose's bass equipment failing didn't help the entire situation. Pretty sure Goose wasn't able to play a song and a half due to his amp blowing up and the inept stage crew who weren't able to see through the smoke that the fog machine was pumping out to offer any type of help. Me? Well, I'm a story teller, not a bass tech. So coupling the equipment malfunction, the exhaustion, and the KISS-esque stage show PBC's set was good but could have been better.

And yes, I did manage to catch Snuff as well as Set Your Goals and maybe even one more. Who knows. After that it was off to our friends Neal and Liena's house to catch up on some much needed sleep. For the first time in forever I was actually passed out by 7pm. Years ago, when I fancied myself a punk my friends would always shout their battle cry "Sleep when you're dead!". Well, fuck that, now that I'm older I go by the creedo "sleep when you're tired". The spiked belt and ambition is long, long gone. And that's really it kids. I didn't say I was going to revolutionize the internet with this entry. It's just a couple paragraphs about some show months and months ago. Time willing, I'll get around to spitting out a couple words about Reading which took place the next day. Until then, I hope you're all listening to Defeater and not Paramore.

This Distance Is Going To Put Us Under The Ground

I don't even know what this next entry is about. I found it in a stack of papers along with a bunch of bills that I've been neglecting since last month. Actually, it's sort of about our last night on tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks right before we left to headline a couple shows overseas. There are a couple of scribbles that I've been meaning to throw up on the internet but that's kind of hard when you no longer have a working computer. I'm actually typing this up at my other job on the company dime. Hopefully, this will get me fired or institutionalized. As always, this wasn't proof read. Also, Ted AB, if you're reading this, move along. My blog isn't funny anymore, remember? Go work on yours instead, those three readers from six months ago can't be left in the dark forever.

Things got pretty stupid right before we left for our flight to Manchester, England. No, not stupid in a "Oh, man, Goose just shat in a Pringles can" but more like "Fuck, I haven't slept in four days" type dumb. What sticks out in my mind the most was the drive from Salt Lake City, Utah to Denver, Colroado which is around nine to ten hours, I don't really remember. Right after the SLC show it was around midnight and we decided it was best to get the fuck out of that shit hole. The show sucked - no one cared about PBC, a barrier bigger than my student loans was in place, the face tattoo to no face tattoo ratio was too incredibly high and their booze had a lower alcohol content than in other states. Fuck you and your made up religion, Utah!

I don't think the initial plan was to drive the entire trek in one shot but that's what happened. Come 9am the next morning I'd been hallucinating for the last couple of hours. Sure, I love a break from reality like most people but when you end up drawing a smiley face on your hand and end up discussing with Mr. Happy whether Valerie or Brenda was the bigger bitch on 90210 , you know it's time for a nap or hibernation. After checking into a Motel 6 and catching two hours of sleep it was off to PBC's final show on the Gig Life Tour.

So hey, I'm a huge pussy who was raised in the suburbs and I probably met my first person of color in the 11th grade. That has nothing to do with my story today, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Anyway, the Denver show was in a pretty fucking sketchy area but I did experience the pleasure of a man wheeling by on a bike offering me crack rock. A different one toothed hobo with a hell of a switch blade "asked" if he could "model" a PBC shirt strictly for our benefit. It broke my heart to turn down such an incredible offer but I did. My favorite street urchin was the one third navajo, one third canine, one third land beast of a woman who offered to fly all of us on her back to Manchester, England for free. Ok, that last image may have been a result of insomnia but I still considered the kind gesture for over five minutes.

The Denver show appeared to be fun, I wouldn't know for sure, I was busy packing records all night in preparation for our flight overseas the next morning. When I wasn't shoving vinyl into cardboard I was loading the trailer whilst fending off zombie homeless people. Maybe you should ask Emmeett how the show was. He seemed to be enjoying himself while sucking down Newcastle's and noshing on pizza. Or perhaps ask our merch guy Gay Dan who three way kissed a pack of tramps and later ended up digging out one of the previously mentioned slags. God, I hate women. (jokes!) But seriously, years (hours) spent behind the merch table has not once yielded me any type of vagina or even a pleasant coversation with a woman. I blame my parents for getting high on mescaline, touching wet spots and producing me - a cross between a bald Finch from American Pie and a harlequin baby. Wait, add a social anxiety complex, bad tattoos and a fear of growing up and we'll call it a day. As of now my cock is announcing its retirement. He'll only unretire when I have to piss or when the bandage needs to be changed.

Of course the last night of tour was bittersweet. Everyone on tour were genuinely great dudes who all looked out for us. Easily, the best support tour we've ever been a part of (Go fuck yourself, Gaslight!). Either way, after the show, all the bands ended up at Denny's which luckily enough was right next to our motel. Well, not everyone went to Denny's, Gay Dan was busy fucking. But it was late, real late and we were to catch a plane to England in a couple hours. Apparently, Set Your Goals were too as well but I'll let them start their own blog and tell that story. At some point I'll write about the flight over Reading and Leeds Fest as well as my hatred towards fests in general. When? Who cares, I don't owe you shit!

Oh, I was going to add a top five list of dudes from other bands that have become "my boys" but I think I'll just have that be an entry that I'll post sometime this weekend. And lastly, if you don't get a kick of what I write about then just don't read. Most of this shit is made up anyway, it's all in fun. Enjoy it or I'll stop drinking.

***You may notice a new design at the top of this pile of shit. Well, like the last design, it's by my friend Teddy. Polar Bear Club should use his work for t-shirts, don't you agree? Check him out here http://tedcasper.com