My Broken Leg

Hey, it’s Shane. Praise Buddah! Thanks for all your kind words regarding the broken leg, which Bobby neglected to mention is his fault, because he pushed into me too hard trying to do some kind of big rock star move and through me off the very small stage at The Twisted Vine, which, uh, I don;t really think was a gay bar, and even if it was, Bobby, you don’t have to go and point it out. We live in a multi-cultural society, man. Everyone gets the same shake and pointing out what other cultures like to do like it’s all exotic is just lame and un-tolerant. But my leg is up in a cast now, all plastered, and Darlo already wrote a skull and crossbones on it when I was asleep, which makes me look like a real asshole onstage - when there is a stage. And Joey keeps calling me “her gimp bro,” but hello, unlike you, Joey, I don’t have a permanent limp, so don’t think we’re in the same boat. I thought that time might mellow Joey but she’s still the same mean secular hipster. And now that she and Darlo are fucking, they’re like a two-headed hydra of meanness. Except to Adam. They leave him alone. It’s getting on my spiritual nerves!

Anyway, I might get up on crutches for the show tonight at something called the Staples Back Room, but will probably stick with a chair for at least a night. We’re all wondering why someone would name a club after a Staples store. Darlo says “it better be good or Abraxas is going to get something nasty in the mail.” I have a bad feeling about this . . .