GUEST BLOG: LANDMINE MARATHON’S GRACE PERRY

Our guitarist Ryan’s birthday was Saturday and we all got him a big-ass birthday cake, filled with hookers and sandwiches. Mike got a tattoo on his left butt cheek of Ryan’s face with a Gene Simmons tongue that said “It’s my birthday!” written across it. We tricked bassist Matt and guitarist Jeff (who are both vegan and have been for longer than vegan has been vegan) into eating sexy hooker flesh. Matt threw up a bunch of beer and hair and fingernails while Jeff went back for seconds. Some of the other guys started making out, which was a trip, and I heard something about a super-secret swordfight to the death. I left when a bunch of hot cops showed up.

It was the best B-day ever.

This next part is for real…

Outside of the show with Dead Child (a few weeks ago), I sat for a few hours and stared at two homeless men holding each other while talking passionately about who knows what. I imagined them just then realizing that they were homeless, had lost everything, and had only one another’s man-love. Maybe they would share a can of steel reserve and wonder where they all went wrong while cupping each other’s butts. If only every old homeless man had another old homeless man to hold, maybe this country would be in a better place. Just a dream of mine…

That night Dead Child stayed at my place. They were all sick with herpes and chlamydia and gonorrhea and syphilis and plague and also were passing around a pretty nasty little cold. They’re really great guys. Like, super great. C’mon.

The next night they had another show in Phoenix, came home drunk, and molested my roommate’s cat. We haven’t seen her since. That cat was a slut anyway. Slut cat.

Can’t wait to play with Graf Orlock on September 7. They bang out with their thang out.

Love, Grace