It all began so innocently. I was hanging out with the Paul and he said, " we gotta go down the street to this punk show, so I can sell some of my label’s shit." I figured, what the fuck, it’s better than sitting around farting, or so I thought. We saddled up the rammer bikes and headed up the street. I had bungeed my 24 oz. Heineken to the rack, and we were off. We arrived in about three minutes at this American Legion Hall. There was a line of training wheel punk rockers along the wall. Just as I was noticing the quality Ringling Brothers collection of Hot Topic supplied hairdos, this Eisenhower look alike veteran dude pulled my beer from off my bike. He keenly spotted the beer as soon as I pulled up. His great perception no doubt honed in the laundry room of some warship during one of those wars against rice eating peoples. He then said, " I can either confiscate it, or you can leave the premises. I said "I’ll just take it back to the house." Eisenhower, with his red U.S.S. Prostate baseball cap said, " leave!" No one gets a free beer from the B, Especially not some retired professional hazing victim with a chip on his shoulder. I went down the street and promptly imbibed the nectar. When I returned, the Paul had already went inside. I waited for someone to come to the door and let me in. I got in and the Paul told the dude that was running the shit that I was helping him. The guy stamped my hand and I went over to the bar. At the bar there were these two old veteran legion members having drinks. I looked over at them and noticed that they were mad dogging me. I thought to myself, how do they know I’m Jewish? I got up to the bar and ordered a Heineken from some young jarhead. He was no doubt paying his dues for membership in this fraternal order of wife beaters. Throughout the next thirty minutes, I made several more trips to the bar for beer. Each time I did, Those two old bastards kept giving me dirty looks. Finally I said, "what the fuck !" They turned their heads away. It was then I realized they kept looking at my chest. I looked at my shirt, and I realized that I was wearing a Clash T-shirt with a Japanese soldier and a rising sun on it. I then realized it was December 7^th. I promptly went and told the Paul of my revelation. What a strange coincidence I thought. We both laughed. The first band went on. I don’t know their name, but Evan from M.F.T. was stunt drumming for them. I thought it was interesting that they covered Bob Marley’s Rebel Music in punk. But all in all, Evan’s drumming was the only pronounced thing in the music. Blah, another punk band. Anyway, after that band finished, I looked around and laughed at the 80 lb., mohican clad teenagers that were imaginably posing, twenty years too late, for the Circle Jerks Group Sex album cover photo shoot. Then it happened, I spied a midget! I know that’s not the p.c. term for those little guys, but I just can’t say dwarf. It just brings up images of beards, battle-axes, and Dungeon Masters Screens. No one was pitting, but I didn’t care, I was drunk and there was a midget in the house. My friend Kelly promptly implanted a Kung Fu Chicken sticker on the lollipop kid’s back. It was cool, and Frodo was cool with it. Anyway, the next band not even a midget could save. They were called The Day. This band sucked ass! Their mellow butt rock was killing my high. Their bass player had a 5 string bass, sacrilege! Besides that, he looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Since I was out of Scooby Snacks, I figured I had to do something. The band had a banner they draped across the bottom of the raised stage. It hit me! I asked the Paul to make me a 1 and ½ foot black capitol G. He did, and I affixed some Kung Fu Chicken stickers on the back to make an adhesive. I then looked for someone to run interference so that I could go up to the stage and get busy. My first choice was Hef from M.F.T., but he had already left. I asked Ark from M.F.T. to do it, he did, warily. I then shimmied up to the banner and affixed the G over the D on their banner and hit the bathroom to recycle beer. When I went in the bathroom, I saw some young punkable twisting in his hair spikes to the rhythm of The Gay’s music. He was working on his hair as hard as John Travolta did in Saturday Night Fever. "Why’d ya’ have ta’ hit my hair? You know I worked on it for hours!" I left the bathroom laughing and elated. My friends were laughing and giving me thumbs up. I went outside to get some well needed air. I saw Kelly and Ark, and A.J. from 2 Stoned Drunk. They told me that the security nazis were not letting anybody back in. To quote A.J. "the security sucked my ass!" This sucked because I left my sweater inside. I went in through the band entrance, got my sweater, and told the Paul we’d see him at his house, then we left. The Paul met us at his house in about thirty minutes. He said he’d had enough triple octaves for the evening. After that, we went to Hollywood to go to a party for the Paul’s friend Joel’s birthday. It was cool to talk to some people of substance and drink their beer. We winded up the evening at the Oki Dog on Willoughby. It reminded me of going to the original Oki Dog on Santa Monica, after a punk show, when I was a teen. Of course it was a lot more quiet and sparse than the original Oki was after a punk show. And as I recall, the punk shows used to be a lot better! Until next time, The B.