Today is technically a day off. We don't have a gig but we have something to do. We have to go to the Mall of America. None of us have any concept of what the Mall of America is and so we unsuspectingly await the arrival of the record company representative for Minneapolis. He's a nice guy and he wouldn't steer us wrong. The Mall of America must be OK.CLANG! The Mall of America is a giant puss filled dripping sore on the face of the Earth. Forget the Ribfest, that's small potatoes next to this baby. The Mall of America is the new epicentre of evil for the Mid West. Let me explain: the Mall of America is a mall, obviously, except that this fucker is as big a town. There are thousands of completely normal people . . . shopping. The sickness is endless. There's even a theme park inside the mall (see pic). Ferris wheels, a roller coaster, rides, stalls, hot-dogs, trees? It's a fucking nightmare, some twisted combination of 'Stepford Wives' and 'They Live'. We (of course) are the Antichrist in this environment. Jim got totally drunk last night and let some lesbians die his hair luminous green. Mark's dreadlocks are sticking straight up and Greg's full 'rude boy' ska attire and his 'Made in England' neck tattoo go down a treat with the white trash. God help us. They're going to lynch us.
Our mission in this gateway to the underworld is to sign a few autographs and say hello to the folks at an alternative store deep in the heart of the Mall. The folks in the stall are very friendly and they are 'one of us'. An alternative oasis in a sea of shit. We gladly sign a few posters and CDs and generally mill around and look useful. How they survive being encircled by the relentless, pointless, consumer hell I'll never know. My hat goes off to you all. The second we can leave the Mall of America we run out of there. I actually have a headache. I haven't had one for ages. This safe haven for endless ineffectuality has damaged my mind.
Lynch/Kafka - 1, Pitchshifter - 0.
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