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THE PENCOPAL PROJECT

2004-03-22 - 11:53 a.m.

Wow. Courtney Love is on Stern right now. She sounds like the slutty psychopath that she is. I can�t believe that after her bizarre appearance on Letterman, followed by her antics before and after her NYC show last week, she�s showing her ass (literally, by the end of the show) on Stern. He�s duping her into talking shit about Kurt, and I wish I was there so I could shove a fucking sock into her mouth to shut her the hell up.

Poor Francis Bean was doomed from the start. Let�s pray children�s services, or a sober family member, can give this girl some guidance before it�s too late. Love says her daughter likes to ride horses w/ Arnold Schwarzenegger�s kid. Maybe Skeletor (Maria Shriver) can act as a surrogate mother or something. I wonder what the odds are that someone who grew up with a mother like Love and a father like Cobain has any chance at a normal life. Drugs and death must�ve colored everything Bean�s seen. *say Bean�s seen five times fast, it�s funny.* Either some awesome fucking music will come out of it when she�s older, if she channels it into the right places, or she�ll be an addicted fuck up like her parents. Love sounds high as a kite and she�s going on and on about how great her kid is. We�ve got no doubt your kid is great asshole, because children are resilient, but we�re concerned about how long she can remain great under your tutelage. HAHA! Arty�s doing this bit where he�s acting like Love, saying random shit in a cross between Tourettes� syndrome and ADD. �Ecstasy, ate my implants, rock star, social worker, CNN, Kurt Cobain, Wendy�s, suck my tits, Linda Perry, Ritalin, I�m happy, archetype, ecstasy, Martha Stewart, ate LSD when I was four�� It sounds so much like her, she says he�s her soul mate.

Whatevs.

Jet and the Vines belong on CD, not live. Both performances on Saturday night�s show at the Electric Factory left something to be desired. It was a good thing I showed up under every influence but sobriety, or it could�ve been a long night.

It started off cold. Since I only go out once a year, I got hooched out in my mini skirt, thigh high boots, and halter top. Wow, but since it was 43 degrees outside, not a very good idea, in hindsight, I thought as I shivered my ass from the car to the venue. My roommate had to go back to the car, so like a dumbass I waited outside�for 20 minutes. Where the fuck did we park, Iraq? She gets back and we shiver our asses into the Electric Factory. The first round goes down quick, and we�re sucking back drinks like they�re water as The Living End plays bad music and hops around the stage. The only thing interesting about that band was the black and white checkered upright bass and the bass player who was throwing it around like a guitar.

What is it about taking a piss that reminds you you�re still trashed? There I was, getting bored and feeling sober. I�m using the bathroom, and the room turns upside down, reminding that I�ve still got my buzz. A bunch of nerds file in and stand right in front of us. They look like they�re in their early forties and they�re all wearing Polo and Lacoste shirts. Who let these fuckers in? I get the urge to accidentally spill my Smirnoff Ice down their backs. Poseurs fucking suck but old poseurs should be shot out back behind a barn somewhere. Taken to glue factories like old horses. Poseur brand glue would have a disembodied Hilfiger logo on its wrapper. Like those ever-recognizable red and black squares, but with a shit stain across the middle. Hot.

I digress. We�re waiting for Jet to begin. They finally run out onto the stage; I think they started with �Cold Hard Bitch.� But how would I know, because during the show I realized all their songs sound the fucking same. They missed that special spark that makes a live band rock. It was all so rote. The night wasn�t a complete wash because I met up with the nefarious Pastori-i. I�m walking to the can and I see this geek in a Mudhoney t-shirt with a backwards Kangol hat. I think it�s just another hipster kid, but cast across his face is the patented Pastori-i �I�m too good for this music� sneer, so I know it�s him. I walk up to this so-called friend, who simultaneously says hello, whips out a dollar, and pretends to put down my top. I know I�m dressed like a stripper, but a good friend wouldn�t call attention to it. Jerkoff.

We�re hanging out, listening to the Vines, who appear to be very high. The lead singer�s lyrics are unintelligible, and the drunker I get, the younger and stupider he looks. By the end of the night he looks like a fetus whining into a microphone. I�m kind of sheepish as I say goodbye to Pastori-i, since I hyped up this show and it basically fucking sucked. I avoid his knowing eyes and focus on the Kangol. Maybe if I tell him he's a channeling Samuel L. Jackson in that hat, it'll divert his attention from thinking I'm a musical imbecile.

Damn it. Maybe I shouldn�t tell him I�m going to see Yes this summer. I�d never hear the end of it.

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