People: We Are Scientists has a plan. It is a plan of action, one whose likelihood of success is immeasurably high. Immeasurably. This plan involves three things: the rock, the liquor, and you. Ha ha, well, not the liquor, necessarily. We’re not going to sit here and condone the use of liquor as a catalyst to having fun, although we will sit here and confirm that it functions extremely well in that capacity. We’ll sit while we confirm that because we’re too drunk to stand. No, not really. In reality we are writing this from a treadmill, one of those neat guys whose angle can be increased to simulate a hill for higher difficulty. We have the angle all the way up to 45 degrees, but the machine is off and we are sitting on the floor, using the ramp as a recliner. Does this information surprise you? It shouldn’t. Your first clue that this kind of thing goes on should have been Michael’s sickly ripped abdominals. Your next clue: Keith’s frisbee-shaped pectorals. And then there are Chris’s ruddy cheeks, which suggest that he is hale, that he enjoys at least moderate health, no?
Earlier on, though, we were talking about a plan that we have. Well, that was not just ballyhoo. Not just, anyway. (Did that sound kind of like David Mamet, those last 2 lines? Hmm. Not bad.) Matter o’ fact, there’s quite the little shytestorm comin’ down the pipes, in a good way. This Friday, you see, We Are Scientists has rented out a club called The West End, up there across the street from Columbia University, a prestigious academic institution that you may have heard of!!! Ha ha ha!! I mean you may just have heard of it, you know? Columbia University! Ring any bells??! Fucking Columbia, eh?!! Ha!! How bout Harvard! Have you maybe heard of them? No but, no, we were talking about Columbia here! Fuckin A!
So but yes, we’ve gone ahead and spoken with the the kindly, wizened folks at The West End and we’ve said to them, we said: “Gentle managerial types, what would you say to us renting out the club area below your hip bar/restaurant, here just a stone’s throw from lauded Columbia University?” And basically, to come to the point, they said fine, okay, anything for you guys, and we said great, we accept your hospitality, and then we just had to plan the event. And plan the event we did.
This Friday, at the West End, you will bear witness to many unusual things: you will bear witness to: four explosive rock forces. At 9:30, The Tuesday Suits will shake your consciousness. These kids are rock solid, air tight, and ready to rumble. So shake your ass for them. At 10:30, The Fit will break you over their knee. In a good way. These guys have a Paula Abdul cover on their new EP. They’re that good. At 11:30, that juggernaut of rock prowess, of harmonic achievement, of cakes and brownies made from a mix, We Are Scientists, will take the stage. And blow. You. Away. Most. Likely. And batting clean-up, Smite will freak the hell out of you from 12:30 til the bar overhead caves in on our heads and we all simultaneously explode from under the rubble like an army of Incredible Hulks and take to the motherfuckin streets. Oh my spine’s tingling just thinking about it.
Besides music, there will be:
– slide artwork projected onto a white screen.
– a short film about relationship obsession projected onto a white screen.
– Camptown Races, fifteen miles long, in this case.
– a live interview of Governor Sweets Calhoun (Alabama), who is running for U.S. President. Sweets is a really cool guy, and has a moustache.
– a thee-headed turtle. Two of the heads are fake.
– a full bar, where you can buy $3 beers, and all sorts of other refreshing inducement.
Now, to be totally forthright, we have to admit that there will be no turtle. But that shouldn’t really be a big deal to you, since, as noted, the turtle has but one head. One head. I mean, come on. Who are we fooling with that? With two fake heads glued on there. Who’s that going to draw? Nobody, so we didn’t even bother with the whole turtle thing. Everything else there is true, though. Everything.