I stood in line behind a fat man last weekend, JUST in case someone decided to bust caps and whatnots into the crowd. He’s a big target and would, at the least, slow the bullets down. I made it backstage and met the bands- something that’d have gotten me wet like 10 years ago. Unfortunately, I missed meeting Marky Ramone by like 10 minutes. I drank many beers, made out with this beautiful 20yo chicky and drug her into her first pit. I kicked ass in that pit. It may be a testament to my age, but that was the first pit that I had zero fear in. This one bitch shoved me and I sent her flying halfway across the pit. She turned around and flipped me off, starting her bitching, and I screamed at her, “I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” and she believed it. Her eyes were huge and she lost the little balls she’d had and she backed off. That was… unnerving. I went from fun to crazy in seconds. I’ll blame the music.

The bruises reveal just how much I enjoyed Fiend Fest ‘06.
I hated Orange.
I loved Osaka Popstar. They were my favorite performance of the night. They even do a cover of the Sailor Moon song. Oh, and a punked-out version of Man of Constant Sorrow.
The Adicts have a huge following. I met a couple at the pit’s outskirts who came from Columbus, Ohio. There was another guy from Alberta, Canada. My most memorable moment of their performance was when this guy with liberty spikes AT LEAST a foot tall walked by, I asked him, “How did you get them to stay? Egg whites?” He looked at me and said, “Why the hell would someone put egg in their hair?” and I realized that this new generation of “punk” sucks. Their clothes are all bought with the holes already in them. From Hot Topic. At least they came to the right place for a schoolin.’

I was totally surprised at the talent of Juicehead. The drummer is really cool but the lead guitar/vocals/songwriter has what I see as an exceptionally huge career ahead of him. Huge. The stupid bassist needs to be dropped from the band. Immediately. I found him to be an arrogant fuckhead that seems to lack any rhythm, whatsoever.

Last up that night was The Misfits. And they are…. still the Misfits (sans Danzig, of course). Old school punk that still makes old-school punk. I fucking loved being able to see them again, even though I feel so old now. Time for more piercings. Do they still sell Manic Panic?

By the end of the night, I was this sweaty, glitter-coated drunkard. It was great. The only bad part was when it came time to go. I’d had SOOO much to drink that I probably should have thrown up in the bathroom before hitting the street, but I didn’t. Instead, I told a friend that they had 10 minutes to get me out of Detroit or I’d either be throwing up in her car or on the side of the expressway…. And then I’d be passing out. Well, she didn’t make it. That’s right, it’s time for Sarah’s immature tales of drunkhood. I rolled down her window and threw up while she was doing 90 down 94. What a sight that guy behind us must have had. Luckily, I’d only eaten a small side-salad Friday and there was really nothing but alcohol for me to throw up. Then I passed out, waking up at 6 am the next morning, bruised and nauseous, with a hangover that I’m not really sure I’ve gotten over yet. After my brain recovers, I have to write about how the Democrats won America back from the terrorists. By terrorists, I mean the Bush Administration and all his wretched cronies.