Let's Get These Guys Killed Tour 2002
For this chapter in the diary, we welcome guest author Long C, who came along to help the band as
our guitar tech./photographer/roadie/etc.
May 10, 2002
Are you there God? It's me, Long"C"
Of course you're not there. You hate me. If you didn't, why would you
have hooked me up with Garbo Swag for their "These Guy Shave Style*" Tour of May '02? What a bunch of
boners. It was like hanging out with a Jewish Mr. Rogers, a slightly retarded and crass Chris Farley, a
bi-polar Eric McCormack, and the best damn mime you've ever heard play guitar. I can only imagine where
I fit in. (* Editor's note: we actually saw this classic headline about us in print!)
The bar was really cool. They had a sweet backyard with a deck and a coi
pond. Every inch of the inside was decorated with band stickers and strange memorabilia, mostly having
to do with the military and Viet Nam. It was, in its entirety, down to its CBGB-styly bathroom, a
fucking ROCK club.
Let me paint the picture for you. Three bands on the bill, one shows up.
Who do they get as a last minute opening act? A really kick-ass guy who calls himself The Impaler.
He has no band, no songs, no instrument, and looks like he'd fit in well playing at BluesFest. Oh yeah,
he also wears a cape. That's right, remember Count Chocula cereal? Very similar. This
warm-up for Garbo Swag consisted of improvised songs (starring Garbo's own Paul Guziec and Jeff Genualdi, and an
unknown guitarist) with titles/themes including: "It Always Hurts the First Time," and "She Loves To Suck My
Cock." When that one ended, The Impaler gave credit, "the drummer wrote that one." My, my,
was it rich. The crowd of twelve loved it. I had a fucking blast. Shirtless Paulie's
mid-set beer fountain impersonation was extra stellar.
Next up, Garbo Swag. What do you get when you mix beer, a mostly empty (or is
it hardly full?) bar in a strange city, beer, Garbo Swag and Long"C", beer, The Impaler, and beer? The
answer: Friday night's show. In my professional opinion, there have been many finer performances by
this always humble, good-spirited bunch. Most likely due to intoxication, the first few tunes were
sloppy and raw. As always though, the band pulled through in the end to impress the few folks who stuck
around to watch. A big thanks will have to go out to David and Shira and friend who came out for
these memorable festivites.
The bartender requested an encore with The Impaler, so the guys jammed a little blues
number, and I must say, it was pretty dope. Layo shred some mean blues guitar and I think I even belted
out some drunken vox. Now, we pack up and drink a little more*, then go to the hotel and share some
SPLEEEEF! Of course there were problems finding the way to a hotel. Entrances and
streets were blocked, so we drove through downtown Detroit in the middle of the night listening to Michael Jackson
before we found our way back to the highway. Something about a strange town in the middle of the
night makes "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" extra enjoyable. After settling in and heading over for a
3:00am meal with Layo and Shira, I crashed on the dirty Days Inn floor. It was a remarkably quiet night,
free of snoring and farting, aside from a top-secret 4:00am mission by one shady character.
* Editor's note: The band also found it...umm...amusing, that the bartender chose to pay
all of our money for the night (a whopping $32) to The Impaler, who then proceeded to go home, and then call the
bar just as we were leaving to tell us he's got the cash. But supposedly the check is in the mail....
- Long C