Ok, so this is my second entry of the day.

If you haven't read my first entry, than you'll never know where I hid that $76 million.

So last night (she said! Oh, baby, I feel so down....) I went out to Toad's place in New Haven to see my (and I use the word "my" in an extremely possesive fashion. Not to mention sexual...) guitarist's other band. The Mess-ups, they're called. Sadly, they mess-up less then the band that I play with them.

The Mess-ups are a fun band. The singer, Bill I believe his name is, is a semi-legend down in that part of the state. He ran for mayor this past election year under his own political party, aptly named "The Guilty Party" where, from what I understand, he's the only member.

Believe you me, I'd join the party in a second, but I live in a different district. I'd start one up in my own hometown, but I'm too busy writing in my diary.

the first time I saw The Mess-Ups was when they played a show on election night. It was advertised as a "Victory Party" for Bill.

Oh, did I mention Bill's dresses like a girl? Shit, I should have thrown that in there earlier. Anyways, Bill dolls himself up in a pink wig, smeared lipstick, and babydoll dress. A local news show did a segment on him when he was running for mayor. Someone taped it and showed it to me, I laughed my ass off. He was out in the street, standing on a soapbox, dressed in drag, trying to gather votes for his campaign. He was holding a giant lollypop and waving it at people while he was giving his speech.

A fucking classic. I also read something about him crashing a debate between the token republican and democrat.

God, that guy is hysterical.

I wanted to say hi, but I know better than doing that with an artists. Most artists are not very approcable. Granted, he doesn't strike me as the snobbish type, but it's too risky with artist types.

You just haven't been dissed until you've been "Artist Dissed."

Anyways, me and my friend showed up at Toad's and up on stage is some fat guy, wearing plastic wrap, covered in vaseline and feathers.

That wasn't even the funny part, the funny part was that there were only about 9 people in the crowd!

Jeeezzz, I wouldn't take my pants off for less than 12 people, but that's just me.

Wait! That sounded wrong.

Fuck, now everybody who has me in their buddy list is going to quote "I wouldn't take my pants off for less than 12 people...."

Anyways, after Capt Chicken got off the stage, the next band were called "The Beer Scouts"

These guys were fucking brilliant! I mean who'd of thought to write a catalog of tunes dedicated to their love of ale?

Yeah, I meant besides everybody.

They didn't even get drunk though.

Pussies.

The Mess-Ups played last.

The best part of the group is that you're not quite sure where the fuck they're coming from.

I mean, the Beer Scouts love beer.

The Big chicken man, feels he has too much respect and needed to shed some.

But the Mess-Ups...

I descibed the singer. He's like a cross-dressing linebacker.

The rest of the band looks like the Beach Boys in their early year.

One of them was even wearing sandles!

You know what I mean? You can't put your finger on that kind of set up. You're just drawn to it, scracting your head.

The show was great, my favorite part was when Bill invited up on stage the naked chicken guy, and proceeded to sing a love song to him. It was great because the guy got SO embarrassed!

The things that'll make a chicken guy blush, huh?

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